


Turn Your Back on Mother Nature

by siriuspiggyback



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Dark!Ben Hargreeves, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, No Incest, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, minor physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuspiggyback/pseuds/siriuspiggyback
Summary: Ghosts aren't people. This is something that Klaus learned when he was small. Ghosts aren't people, because people are more than the hate and fear and anger inside of them.But Ben is different. Isn't he?
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Dave/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 360
Kudos: 635





	1. Prologue: Welcome to Your Life

Klaus blinked slowly. 

He felt like he was sinking into the couch cushions, sleep pulling him downward, the ache in his muscles begging for him to just let go. His hands were cold and tingling with numbness, nerves alight; the sensation was a familiar one. 

“Ben,” he said, half slurred, a reflexive plea.

“Not yet,” said Ben distractedly. Klaus could hear him turn the page of his book, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room.

Klaus gritted his teeth. He had been keeping Ben corporeal for- a while now. Long enough that he had begun to shake. Time had stretched on, minutes uncounted, and Klaus wasn’t sure of when he had last eaten, or had any water. He certainly couldn’t make it to the kitchen now. Just the thought of it seemed unsurmountable, like a marathon. He was utterly spent. Each breath cost him something, the expanding of his chest a huge motion, burning energy that he didn’t have. “Ben,” he whined quietly, face half pushed into the couch cushions. “Please.”

“I told you, not yet,” snapped Ben.

Klaus flinched back, choking on his words. He had heard him the first time, but he had hoped- what had he hoped? That Ben might have changed his mind? Stupid of him. Desperation always got the better of him, as hard as he always tried. He just needed a _break._ His teeth chattered, the sound too loud, and he knew that it would only worsen Ben’s already foul mood, but he couldn’t stop the motion, and when he pushed his tongue between them, it only cut it, the copper tang of blood filling his mouth.

The cold buzz of his hands stuttered. Failed.

“For god's sake, Klaus,” Ben hissed.

“Sorry,” moaned Klaus. He knew that it was weakness, but the relief was sweet and immediate, like life was pulling back into him, the wave returning to the sea. His hands balled into fists as he tried to cling to the thread of power that had slipped from his palms, but he couldn’t regain it, too weak to hold on. 

“At least put the TV on, if you won’t let me finish my book,” said Ben, huffing out a sigh. He was disappointed. This was the norm for them, a side effect of spending so much time around Klaus, who was a perpetual let down.

“Okay,” said Klaus, “I can do that.” He slipped off of the couch like a waterfall, sinking onto the carpet and swaying when everything span. He crawled over to the TV on hands a knees, unable to find enough equilibrium to stand, and switched it on. The flicker of light burned his eyes, and he turned away. He allowed himself to slump onto the carpet. It felt like heaven to his weary bones, a slippery sort of comfort that would leave him aching tomorrow. 

Time stretched on. Klaus shivered, not sure if the room was cold, or if it was a side effect of how long he had used his powers for. (Sometimes, when he used his powers for hours and hours, he got scared that he might never feel warm again. Sometimes, he felt like he might be a corpse himself.)

“Klaus,” said Ben.

“Hmm?” he replied, squinting up at him.

Ben, for once, didn’t look like he was annoyed, or demanding, or like Klaus had done something stupid. Instead, he looked pale and shocked, mouth agape. “Look.”

Klaus followed his sightline, wincing at the bright light of the television, which slowly came into focus.

_Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves Found Dead._

He read it again. Again. The words seemed unreal. He wondered if he was dreaming, asleep on the carpet.

The phone rang. 

Klaus startled hard enough to thump his elbow on the floor, the pain jarring him, revertebrating up his arm, but at least he felt more awake now. He dragged himself onto his feet, scrambling to pick it up. He didn’t get many calls. By the look on Ben’s face, they both had an idea of who it might be.

“Hello?” Klaus said nervously, cradling the phone close to his face. 

“Klaus, my dear boy,” said a voice that he hadn’t heard in- over ten years, now.

“Pogo.”

“I’m sorry to be calling with bad news,” he said gravely. “Your father-”

“I know,” interrupted Klaus. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to ignore Ben’s watchful gaze. “I saw it on TV.”

Pogo sighed heavily. “I’m sorry I didn’t call before. I didn’t have your address; you were quite difficult to track down.”

Klaus had to hold back from telling him that it had been on purpose. He licked his lips. “Is there going to be a funeral?”

“Yes. In two days. I have already been in contact with your siblings, and I expect they will be present.”

Two days. It was fast, but then, Reginald always had been an efficient sort of man. He had probably written out instructions in full, for in the case of his death.

Klaus looked to Ben, who nodded once, firm. "We'll be there," said Klaus.

There was a beat of silence over the phone, before Pogo questioned, "We?"

Ben shook his head slightly.

"I mean, I will. I will be there," Klaus said. 

“Okay,” Pogo said, slowly, and Klaus felt like he was trying to say something else, but he wasn’t sure what. “Well, I look forward to seeing you, even if I wish it were better circumstances.”

Klaus disagreed. In his mind, the circumstances couldn’t be better. “Bye, Pogo,” he said, before hanging up the phone.

“You need to call up work and get the next couple days off,” Ben told him.

“I only need the day of the funeral off,” Klaus said, worrying at his bottom lip.

Ben folded his arms. “You need tomorrow to get ready.”

“Get ready how?”

“Well, first of all, you need a haircut.”

Klaus reached up to touch his hair, which had grown long enough to tuck behind his ears in tight curls. “Haircut? I like my hair like this.”

“You look homeless,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you want our siblings to take you seriously?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then get it cut neatly, so you look a little less like a hobo. The last time most of them saw you, you were still an addict, still on the street. They haven’t seen you since I got you out of that life. If you want to show them how you’ve changed, at least fix your hair,” said Ben.

Klaus deflated. “I guess you’re right.”

“And do you have anything appropriate for a funeral?”

“Sure. I mean, most of my wardrobe is black,” he said, floating over to his bedroom to inspect his options. 

“Black, yes, but funeral appropriate?” Ben asked sceptically.

Flicking through his clothes, Klaus said, “I have a plain black button up. With the sheer arms?”

“That’ll do. You need to iron it though,” said Ben, shaking his head at the creases.

“Oh, and that black skirt? The long one, with the lace edging?” suggested Klaus, digging it out.

Ben snorted. “A skirt? I thought you wanted them to take you seriously?”

“But I like skirts,” Klaus said, voice small. 

“I know,” Ben allowed. “And usually I don’t care if it makes people laugh at us. But if we’re seeing our family? Come on, Klaus, think about it.”

Klaus played with the soft folds of the skirt. “I don’t have black trousers. Not except for the leather ones.”

“Not the leather ones,” Ben was quick to say. “We can go shopping for some tomorrow. Hence, the next two days need to be booked off.”

“I don’t know,” hedged Klaus. His head was swimming, exhausted but keyed up. He dropped down onto his bed. “If we take two days off, rent’s already going to be tight. I can’t afford new clothes too.”

Ben shot him an exasperated look. “If _someone_ hadn’t bought that candle last month, maybe we would have enough for funeral clothes.”

Klaus wrapped his arms around himself, a sinking feeling in his gut. “Sorry.”

“Whatever, what’s done is done,” said Ben, taking pity on him, before sitting down next to him. “You know I’m only trying to help.”

“I know,” whispered Klaus.

“Okay. We can still make rent even with the new trousers. We just gotta get a little tighter with our money. If you’re sensible with the grocery shopping, we can cut down some spending there.”

Shaking his head, Klaus said, “I’m already buying just the bare essentials. I can’t.”

“Klaus,” Ben said irritably. “I’m sure you can eat a little less, you’re not about to starve to death.”

Klaus chewed his nails, a nervous habit. “Alright, okay. Sure.”

“Thank you,” said Ben. “See? Everything is going to work out.”

“Yeah,” said Klaus, utterly unconvincing. 


	2. No Turning Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for some physical violence
> 
> the rest of the siblings are here!

Klaus reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear, only to freeze when his finger’s encountered the short fuzz at his temple, freshly shorn. It was a habit that he couldn’t shake, and found himself doing more the closer to home he got. His ears felt cold and exposed. He wished, suddenly and violently, that he had told Ben no, that he wouldn’t cut it. Then reason caught up with him. It was for the best, after all. He needed to look clean and smart, like someone who had their life together, like someone who could earn their respect. 

“Come on,” said Ben, shifting impatiently at his side. “Let’s go in.”

Dragging his heels, Klaus followed his brother into the shadow of the mansion, and up to the doors. At Ben’s urging, he pushed the door open with a shaking hand.

Smell, as Ben had once told him so many years ago, was the sense most associated with memory. Ben had been reading a huge book on physiology and brain function, and Klaus had teased him for it, although he had still listened attentively each time Ben told him a fact that he liked. Klaus had loved those brief afternoons, the only part of his childhood that held true fondness. He remembered Ben’s voice, higher than it was now, explaining neural pathways and olfactory memory. Now, as he stepped into the place he had once called home, the stale air hit him and threw him back a decade, to when he was young and just as scared. 

The place hadn’t changed, not even a little. It was eerily preserved, like stepping into the past, a place where time didn’t move. 

Klaus closed his eyes, and reminded himself that, even if this place was unmoved, he was. He wasn’t the same grieving, fleeing wreck that he was when he left here. He was an adult, with a little apartment and a job he hated, and he hadn’t had anything more than a cigarette since he was twenty. 

“Let’s go to my old room,” said Ben. “I still have some stuff there that I want to take back.”

“Okay,” agreed Klaus, taking the stairs up. It was silent, each footstep piercing the quiet and echoing strangely. He wondered whether he was the first to get there. The anticipation of seeing his siblings had settled like a stone in his stomach, weighing on him. He kept craning around to check he was alone, as if he was committing a crime, scanning for witnesses.

Ben's room, like the rest of the mansion, was unchanged. His bedside table still held a book cracked open to hold his page, his uniform tie still slung carelessly over the back of his chair. Grace must have dusted, because the place still felt clean and lived in, nothing like the tomb that Klaus had been picturing.

Ben made a small, mournful sound.

"It's okay," Klaus was quick to reassure him.

"Don't," said Ben. "Nothing about this is okay."

Klaus felt his heart pound in his chest, a reminder of what Klaus had and Ben didn't.

“Sorry,” he said, folding his arms around himself. It was a stupid thing to say, but what else was there?

Ben took a shaky, unneeded breath, and stepped into the room, slowly circling the edges. His eyes skated over the details of it, inspecting it. He stopped at the bookcase. A rare smile ghosted over his face, tilted to better read the spines. “Okay, are you ready?”

With a dutiful nod, Klaus hurried to his side. Ben read out the names he liked, and Klaus took them out, stacking them on the bed. Ben didn’t want him to waste energy making him corporeal, in case he wanted to be present later, with their family. Klaus wasn’t sure whether Ben planned on making a surprise entrance. The rest of them hadn’t seen him since-

Yeah.

He had hoped that Ben might want to go in with Klaus, someone to have his back against the force of their estranged family, but Ben had declined. Said he liked to hear what people said about him when he wasn’t there. According to him, people were most honest when they thought they were alone. (Klaus was never alone; he wondered if that meant he was never honest.)

Klaus had a decent pile of books on the bed, and was digging in the wardrobe for Ben’s old duffel bag, when a familiar voice said, “Klaus?”

He whirled around nervously, pulse jumping. “Allison,” he said in surprise. Then, belatedly, “Hi.”

Allison smiled widely, although it wasn’t enough to hide the knowing glint in her eye. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said, casting around for something to say. “You look- nice? Your outfit, it’s great.”

“Thanks,” she said, eyes narrowed, “I think. So. Ben’s room?”

Klaus chanced a glance at Ben, who shook his head, a silent no. “Uh, just feeling… nostalgic.”

She hummed, disbelieving. “When’s the last time you were in rehab? You stopped sending bills my way.”

“I’m sober.” Klaus shrugged, the movement jagged. 

“Yeah?” she said. 

“A while now,” he said, picking at a hangnail. 

“Well, that’s great,” Allison said, although it was lackluster, still waiting for the punchline. 

Klaus chewed at his nail. The silence was too loud, making him too aware of himself, of each breath. “So, uh-”

“Are you okay?” she blurted. Her eyes cut into him, made him want to hide. 

“What? Yeah, yeah. I mean-”

_“Klaus?”_

Like a startled rabbit, Klaus twitched back, eyes wide. “Sorry- oh. Luther?” He blinked, but the image refused to resolve into the Luther that he used to know.

“What are you doing in here?” Luther demanded.

Ben said, “Not yet,” a smirk growing as he observed how the situation played out, like he was watching a particularly entertaining movie. Klaus feverently wished that he could turn invisible, too.

“Nothing, I just- uh-”

“Klaus, if you’re planning on selling our _dead brother's stuff_ for _drug money,_ I swear-”

“No! No, I wasn’t, I- I’m sober,” Klaus said, hand up in surrender.

Luther rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”

Klaus felt his heart drop.

“Told you so,” Ben said laughingly.

“I am, I promise, for years now-”

Luther ran a huge palm down his face, looking exhausted with Klaus’ entire presence. “Whatever. Just- don’t touch Ben’s stuff.”

Eyes flitting between Luther and Ben, Klaus said, “But- I just, I was going to take some of his favourite books, that’s all.”

“Really,” said Luther flatly.

“Just the ones on the bed. I’ll take care of them, I swear. Please.” He could feel his palms gathering sweat.

Luther shared a long look with Allison, one that Klaus couldn’t read, before saying, “Fine. But if I find out you’re selling them-”

“I won’t,” Klaus said quickly, rushing to tidy the books into the bag, hindered by the way his hands were trembling. He turned around, to find his living siblings watching him, expressions strange. “What?”

“You seem… different,” Allison said.

Klaus smiled thinly. “Sober. Remember?”

Luther shook his head slowly. “Even Klaus is different. I guess nothing stays the same.”

“Except this house,” Klaus joked weakly. 

“Except that,” Allison replied with a mischievous smile. 

-

The family filtered into the living room, slowly, as if gravity were pulling each of them in. Klaus perched in the armchair in the corner, as out of the way as he could be whilst still being there. Ben stood at his side. Luther didn’t sit, looming over them, casting a shadow that stretched out, his serious air making everyone tense.

Klaus tried not to curl away when Diego entered the room. The pair hadn’t ended things nicely, or even badly. The last time they had spoken had been _vicious_. They were both young and scared and hurt, and had no idea how to deal with that, except for lashing out, finding the words that hurt the most. The betrayal when Diego hadn’t believed that he was sober… Klaus still felt it, an ever present weight on his shoulders. Klaus had missed him. He often thought about reaching out, finding him, making amends, except that Ben would remind him of the cruel things he had said, and how Diego would never believe him, and then it didn’t seem like a great idea after all. 

After him, Vanya stepped inside, and he had almost forgotten how tiny she was. It seemed incongruous that such a small woman could deal such great pain. Phrases from her book haunted Klaus almost as much as the ghosts did, reminding him of his failures, his uselessness, selfishness. He remembered how it followed him to work, how he laid out the magazines with quotes shouting from the pages. It was worse than watching Allison’s family fracture on the same glossy paper. 

He struggled to keep his mind present. It was something that he struggled with often, easily slipping away from himself for hours at a time. Being back there wasn’t helping; his brain skittered away from the sharp memories it had brought back. Klaus found himself wishing for those numbing highs that had softened his teenage years. Of course, he knew that it wasn’t an option, that Ben would be furious at him, but that didn’t stop him from wishing for it in the private corners of his mind. 

Luther shuffled in place, the role of leader an ill fit after so much time. “I guess we should get this started,” he said. “So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot.”

Klaus winced at everyone’s confusion, at Luther’s blind surprise that no one else had shared afternoons sitting with their father under the oak tree. Ben scoffed at it. Some dynamics never changed, including, apparently, Number One’s long standing belief that his childhood experience applied to the rest of them. 

With shaking hands, Klaus pulled out a cigarette, perching it between his lips as he scrambled for his lighter. He had barely taken a drag before Luther commanded, “Put that out. You know dad didn’t allow smoking in here.”

Klaus looked between Luther and his cigarette, panicked, and then Ben, who rolled his eyes at Klaus’ stupidity. He looked around for something to put it out on, before realising that everything around him was worth more than he was. He hitched a booted foot up, and stubbed it out on his sole. 

Luther gave him a despairing look, before turning back to their siblings. “Listen up. There’s still some things we need to discuss.”

“Like what?” Diego asked, his voice razor sharp.

“Like the way he died.” 

Diego made a smug sound, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And here we go.”

Luther only dug himself deeper. Vanya flatly pointed out that the coroner, who ruled it a heart attack, should know, but he just said, _theoretically,_ unwilling to commit. “The last time I spoke to dad,” he argued, “he sounded strange.”

“What a surprise,” Klaus muttered under his breath, wrapping his arms around his rib cage. 

“Strange _how?”_ Allison asked.

Luther carried on about how their father, the paranoid old bastard, had been on edge, like he knew something was about to happen. Klaus didn’t pay it much heed; their father had been constantly on edge, never once relaxing or showing signs of softness. He was ready to zone out completely, when Luther turned to look at him, and Klaus felt himself sit up straight as he was addressed. “Look, I know you don’t like to do it, but I need you to talk to dad.”

Klaus froze, eyes wide. “I-I can’t just- I mean- I can’t."

“Since when?” said Luther, his tone impatient.

“I’d just rather not,” Klaus said, faltering under the heavy gazes of his siblings. 

“Oh, I get it,” Diego said, ‘you’re high.”

“No!” Klaus said desperately, leaning forward in his seat, hoping that his sobriety might show on his face. 

“Oh, really? Then why are you all twitchy and weird?” asked Diego.

Klaus clenched his hands tight, feeling self-conscious and overly aware of every movement he made, trying to sit still despite their eyes on him, and the moans of the dead, distant but never quite gone, no matter how many years he stayed clean. “I’m sober,” he repeated quietly.

Luther said, “Then you can contact dad.”

Ben muttered, “They don’t believe you.”

“I’ll try,” Klaus said finally, despite the dread pooling in his gut. 

Luther nodded, before turning away. “And then there’s the issue of his missing monocle.”

“Who cares about a stupid monocle?” Diego spat.

“Exactly,” Luther said, and the room went quiet for a beat, thrown by his easy agreement. “It was worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone who knew him. Someone with a grudge.”

“Holy shit,” Ben said. “This is an accusation. Klaus, he thinks you did it.”

“Where are you going with this?” Klaus blurted, his fingers digging into his thighs as he fought not to run. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” drolled Diego. “He thinks one of us killed dad.”

“You do?” asked Vanya, incredulous. “How could you think that?”

“Great job, Luther. Way to lead.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Luther said, unconvincing.

Klaus stood woodenly, anxiety crashing against him. On shaky legs, he edged towards the exit, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew that none of them trusted him. How long until this turned into a witch hunt?

“I’m not finished,” said Luther, eyes narrowing on Klaus.

With his heart in his throat, Klaus unsteadily said, “Just gonna go- go murder mom or something. Be right back.”

With the sounds of his siblings angry voices at his back, he darted out of the room, before the situation could devolve further. He waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore, and then he sunk to the ground, gasping for breath. Why had he come here? What did he really expect? A fun reunion? Love and acceptance? Ben was right. They would never see him as anything more than the stupid junkie he was. 

-

Klaus paced.

Ben was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes hard. He had already pointed out how useless it was, how impossible. Klaus knew he was right. He also knew that his living siblings were disappointed enough, suspicious enough, without Klaus refusing to conjure Reggie.

So, here he was: stood in front of his father’s ashes, sober and anxious and terrified of both possible outcomes. Either he conjured the ghost that most scared him, or he failed. It was a lose-lose situation.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “Come on, dad.” He ran his palms down his cheeks, trying to find a thread of courage. “If I was murdered, and I had a son who could see ghosts, I might consider… y’know, manifesting?”

“He’s not coming,” Ben said softly. “He doesn't care about us, and you don’t have to power or control to summon him.”

Klaus stepped closer to the urn, bending his knees until he was on eye level. “Please,” he said. “Please.”

“You know he despised you,” Ben said, stepping closer. “You were only ever a disappointment to him.”

“I know,” breathed Klaus, swallowing down a hot feeling in the back of his throat. “I just- I had to try, didn’t I?”

Ben smiled. “You always try, even when it’s a lost cause. When are you gonna learn?”

Klaus looked down, shamefaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Ben kindly. “Hey, why don’t we go down to the kitchen? If you eat whilst you're here, you can make the food back home stretch longer.”

Klaus almost sniped _what food back home,_ but held his tongue. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that he couldn’t afford more, that he was too stupid to get a better paid job. “Yeah,” Klaus said, defeated.

He walked down to the kitchen like he was walking to the gallows. He was sure he wouldn’t make it there without bumping into someone, and even if he did, one of his siblings was bound to be in the kitchen. Diego often hung around there, if Grace was cooking. Klaus really didn’t want to see anyone, couldn't bear to see their judgemental eyes, listen to their pity and suspicion and doubt. 

Maybe God really was listening, because he found the kitchen empty, and the fridge full.

Klaus took a few items and balanced them precariously under his chin. He chose the foods that were more expensive, the once he skipped to keep his food bill down, the meats and fruits he had been craving. He didn’t bother to make it into a full meal, just tossing stuff into his mouth instead. He had forgotten how much he had missed those flavors, stuck in a loop of instant ramen and flat cheese sandwiches. Ben rolled his eyes at Klaus’ greediness, but didn’t comment, so Klaus was taking it as a win.

And then the knives started flying.

He leapt backwards, falling over his own chair, knees hitting the floor painfully. 

“Holy shit,” cried Ben, ducking despite being incorporeal.

Klaus peaked up from the floor to see them embedded in the walls, vibrating still, as if under the pull of something magnetic. He could feel it tugging at him. His ears were ringing, pressure building, a sound like a storm. Ben yelled, “The courtyard!” and Klaus nodded, half running, half stumbling outside to where everything was blue and wild and electric. 

The rest of his living siblings were gathered in a loose half circle. Klaus slowed down, lingering behind them, eyes on the huge portal that was opening up. He wondered if this was how the world ended, sucked up into some terrible black hole like in the terrible sci fi shows that Ben liked to watch. 

Then, in the centre: the smudgy impression of a man.

Luther and Diego were shouting, something about staying behind them, as if they could fight off something as huge and consuming as this, but the sound was stolen before Klaus could properly hear it, sucked into the whirling blue. The siblings watched, helpless, and the man - no, the _boy_ , it looked like a child - pushed his way out of it, hands clawing desperately, mouth opened in a soundless yell-

And he fell.

The boy tumbled to the ground, a small mess of skinny limbs, and the portal neatly folded into itself, as if it had never been there at all.

Klaus felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. The sudden silence seemed surreal, a physical presence, pressing at his skin. The group of them shuffled forward as one, scared of getting too close, but unbearably curious. The boy scrambled to his feet, unco-ordinated, hindered by the suit that hung off of him, like a child playing dress up with his father’s clothes. The boy looked down at himself, and then up at them.

The floor seemed to dissolve from underneath him. 

“Is that-” Klaus choked out. It couldn’t be. And yet, there he was, Number Five, the lost child, standing in front of them with an expression of mild irritation on his face, so familiar that it hurt. 

“Shit,” Five said succinctly. He took one last glance around, before striding past them. With one stunned glance at Ben, Klaus followed behind, along with the rest of his siblings, shocked into silence.

Five lead them down to the kitchen.

The remains of the food Klaus had taken out littered the sideboard. Five looked at it for a moment, before shaking his head and searching the cupboards. Embarrassed, Klaus gathered his mess up, and hastily shoved it back into the fridge, ears turning red. 

“You can leave out the peanut butter,” said Five.

Klaus paused, before retrieving the jar of peanut butter, placing it back down on the counter and leaning back into it. All the kitchen chairs were taken.

“What’s the date? The exact date,” Five questioned, not turning from where he had begun constructing a sandwich. 

“The 24th,” said Vanya.

“Of what?”

“March.”

Five seemed to consider this for a moment. “Good.”

“So, are we going to talk about what happened?” Luther interrupted, standing up. “It’s been seventeen years.”

He scoffed, “It’s been a lot longer than that,” before jumping through space and reappearing over by the shelves.

“I haven’t missed that,” muttered Luther. Klaus disagreed; he had missed all of it, Five’s brash arrogance, flippant and distant and hard to pin down. Funny, how time could make someone’s worst traits seem like a fond idiosyncrasy.

Diego asked, “Where’d you go?”

“The future,” said Five, not looking up from where he was slapping the peanut butter down. “It’s shit, by the way.”

 _Called it_ , Klaus thought to himself wryly.

“I should have listened to the old man. Jumping through space is one thing. Jumping through time is a toss of a dice.” Five turned to spare a glance at Klaus. “Nice shirt.”

Klaus startled, reaching up reflexively to touch the soft material. It wasn’t one of his favourites, but it was nice enough, plain black and boring except for the arms, which were a pleasant sheer material. It was the only part of his outfit that felt like him. “Thanks,” he said, voice too loud with surprise.

“Wait,” Vanya said, voice bleeding frustration, “so how did you get back?”

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time,” Five explained.

Diego frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“Well, it would if you were smarter,” Five dismissed him.

Diego stood in a way that promised violence, and Klaus felt himself shrink back. Luther threw an arm across his chest.

“How long were you there?”

“Forty-five years. Give or take.”

Luther and Diego slumped back into their chairs, silenced by Five’s admission. Klaus couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Ben, on the other hand, was listening raptly. He always had been smarter than Klaus.

“So what are you saying?” asked Luther. “That you’re fifty-eight?”

“No,” bit out Five. “My _consciousness_ is fifty-eight. My body is thirteen again.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya asked, about as confused as Klaus felt.

“Delores kept saying the equations were off,” Five said casually, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

Vanya softly said, “Delores?”

Five hummed, picking up a discarded newspaper with his free hand. “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How did you know about that?” asked Luther.

“What part of the future do you not understand?” Five said glibly. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

Eyes flicking between Luther and Diego, Five said, “Nice to see nothing’s changed.” He shook his head, and started back out the door.

“That’s it?” questioned Allison. “That’s all you have to say?”

Five called back, “What else is there? Circle of life.”

The rest of the siblings didn’t move for a handful of long seconds, all trying to process the last bizarre few minutes.

Eventually, Luther said, “Well. That was interesting.”

Interesting, Klaus thought, was a massive understatement.

-

It was raining. 

Water pattered onto their umbrellas, rolling down in beads that soaked in the tips of their shoes. It was the exact kind of weather for a funeral.

The family were gathered in a loose circle. It was a small gathering, which seemed fitting for such an unliked man. There was only one more person in attendance than expected, and only because Five had happened to travel back in time to this day. Pogo was speaking. His words were kind, kinder than a man like Reginald Hargreaves deserved, and it grated on Klaus’ already frayed nerves. Ben was muttering to himself, probably commenting on the lies Pogo was spilling. Klaus lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. 

“...He leaves behind a complex legacy,” Pogo was saying.

Diego broke in, “He was a monster.” Ben made an amused sound. Klaus winced. “He was a bad person, and a worse father. The world’s better off without him.”

It was all true, Klaus thought, but not the kind of thing you said out loud. 

It didn’t take long for the fight to break out, after that. 

The grunts and thumps made Klaus flinch back. He hated violence, always had, and Ben always called him a colossal wimp for how easily cowed he was by the threat of it - just like he did now, taking a large step back, throwing a reflexive arm across Five’s body as if to shield him, only for Five to swipe it away. 

Ben laughed to himself, but it was unamused. 

Luther was huge, but Diego was faster, ducking around him and delivering sharp punches to his kidneys, dancing back around. It only caused Luther to get more riled. With each attack, the two got a little closer to where Ben’s statue stood, looking down on them all.

“You really gonna let them do this? Right in front of my fucking statue?” Ben asked him.

Klaus edged around them, unsure. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop being so fucking useless!” Ben hissed. 

He flinched back, pale. “Okay,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Hey! Stop it!” he called out. Unsurprisingly, no one paid him any attention. The pair were edging closer to the statue, as if they might barrel right into it, collateral damage in their eternal rivalry. His heart skipped a beat. “Stop it!” he shouted, darting in front of the statue, arms held out wide.

He saw it coming, as if in slow motion.

Diego, side stepping the punch.

Luther, unable to stop his forward momentum.

Klaus felt his training flood back, muscle memory that he had thought was forgotten. He dropped down into a roll, coming up behind Luther, out of the danger zone.

The thud, the crash. 

The head, skittering and rolling across the wet ground. 

“Shit,” whispered Klaus.

“And, there goes Ben’s statue,” Allison said.

Then, Diego, coldly raging, tossing the knife like an extension of himself, slicing a fine line in Luther’s bicep. 

Hurtful words, tossed carelessly.

The rest of his living siblings trudged back inside, scattered and alone.

Klaus was left reeling, staring blankly at where Ben’s statue was supposed to stand, now empty except for the memory of it. He couldn’t believe he had let that happen. It was just so _fast._ He couldn’t make them listen, couldn’t see a way to stop them. He had dropped his umbrella in the skirmish, and now the rain was soaking through his hair and the shoulders of his shirt, leaving him cold and shivering. 

Ben stepped closer. Klaus braced himself. 

“What the hell was that, Klaus?”

“I’m sorry,” Klaus said instantly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to? Don’t make excuses. I’m so _sick_ of your excuses.” Ben’s nostrils flared, his mouth drawn down into a thin line.

Klaus ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“I asked you to do one thing. _One thing._ Did you want them to break it? Is that it?”

“No!” Klaus denied, shaking his head. “No, I just-”

“Just what?” Ben growled.

“I just- Luther was going to hit me, and I-”

Ben took a step towards him, jaw clenched. “Then you should have let him.”

“But-”

And then Ben reached out - not just physically, but on that other plain too, hooking into his chest and drawing his power, leeching Klaus’ warmth until his hands glowed blue. Ben’s hand wrapped around Klaus’ thin wrist, twisting. “Shut up. Just _shut up.”_

Klaus choked on his breath. His wrist burned and throbbed, and he had to resist the urge to try to pull himself free, knowing that it wouldn’t end well. 

“After all I’ve done for you, I ask you to do one thing. _One thing._ Why can’t you learn? Huh? After all I’ve done to help you, you’re still just the same screw up you always have been.”

A pathetic whimper clawed its way out of Klaus’ throat.

Ben made a disgusted sound, lip curled up. “I’m done. I’m done.” He dropped his wrist, and Klaus pulled it in against himself protectively. “I’m tired of watching you fuck everything up. You think I want to live like this? Trying to make you better, watching you throw that hard work away?”

“But-” croaked Klaus, eyes burning with tears. “You can’t-”

“I _can’t?”_ Ben echoed incredulously. 

“Please,” Klaus sobbed.

Ben shook his head. “I’m done,” he said. Stepped away.

Klaus took a shaking step after him. “No. Please, I’m sorry, don’t-”

In the space between heartbeats-

“-go.”

Ben was gone.


	3. On Your Best Behaviour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for nightmares/anxiety/cancer and amputation mention/drug addiction

He was coming back.

That was what Klaus was telling himself, repeating in his head like a mantra. Ben was coming back. 

This wasn’t the first time that Ben had left, tired of Klaus and all his issues, needing space from the drain that was Klaus Hargreeves. He had come back, all of those times, apologetic and kind, telling him that he wouldn’t do it again. So, he would come back. He had to. Klaus didn’t know how to _be_ without his brother, didn’t know what he was supposed to do, like a lost child, frightened and alone. 

Klaus trembled. He was distantly aware that he was cold and wet, and that the ground was icy beneath him. It was getting dark. Klaus hated the dark, so he should do something, go somewhere light and warm. That was what Ben would tell him to do. Go inside. Go inside.

His legs felt weak and uncooperative when he stood up, vision going dark for a moment. He felt like he might float away. The courtyard wavered and ran in his eyes, and he fumbled his way across it like a drunk, barely managing to keep upright. 

The warm air that greeted him at the door felt like pure bliss, a promise that he would be warm again, that he would be dry again. He knew he didn’t deserve it. He knew that what he deserved was the cold outdoors, dank alleyways and drug dens, and not home and safety and _Ben._ Even a home like this, stained with fears and memories, was kinder than he deserved, but he couldn’t bring himself to head back out into the night. He didn’t know how to be that person anymore, the one that had been wild and reckless, the person that Ben had taken so much time fixing. Klaus selfishly wished he was that person still; that version of him wouldn’t have cared about any of this. 

Muscle memory took him back to his bedroom. 

Like Ben’s room, it was eerily preserved. Klaus had thought that Reginald would have painted over his scribbles and doodles, snuffing out Klaus’ teenage rebellion for good. Yet here it all was. Each line of spidery scrawl a testament to who he had been, overflowing with emotion and pain and having no where else to put it but here, in the closest place he had to safety, even though that safety was violated each time he was torn from his bed and tossed into-

Klaus sucked in a breath. He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t. Not without Ben here to talk him through the panic, to keep his present and sane. 

Woodlenly, he shrugged out of his soaked funeral clothes, the ones that Ben had helped him pick out. They were sodden and dirty from rolling across the courtyard ground earlier. He left them on the floor like a careless child. Klaus couldn’t afford to replace them, but equally he couldn’t bear the idea of wearing them again, so he left them there to be decided later. He knew he should probably take a bath, but couldn’t summon the energy. Instead, he opened his wardrobe. The clothes inside were slightly musty from disuse, but clean enough. He pulled out an old, oversized shirt that might have belonged to someone else, and a pair of boxers. He should have been excited to explore his old clothes, styles which he hadn’t dared to wear in years, but instead he was just tired, eager to get into bed. 

He was shaking, still. Klaus couldn’t tell if it was from the lingering chill, or just anxiety, but he pulled his duvet around his shoulders in the hope that it might fix it.

Ben would be back soon. He had to be. The longest he had ever been gone before had been 6 hours and 27 minutes, after Klaus had been fired from his job once, and that had just been to teach him a lesson. It had to be almost that long already, so he would be back soon. Klaus shuffled back so that he was wedged into the corner. This was the closest he could get to safety without Ben there. The wails of the dead were inching closer, as if they were right outside the window, just beyond the doorway. It was always a little more difficult to control them when he was alone, like Ben was a talisman against the vengeful spirits. 

If he could fall asleep, then Ben would be back by time he woke up. Then it would be like he had never left. Of course, that was easier said than done. Klaus was too keyed up, teeth chattering, lungs spasming desperately in his chest. Half of him wished he would have a full scale panic attack just to get it over with. It had to be better than this, trapped in a state of anxiety that showed no signs of easing off, like he might be stuck like this forever, unable to breathe deep or relax his jaw for the rest of time.

Klaus uncrossed his legs, and laid down flat. Ben had taught him about belly breaths and progressive muscle relaxation, and just because he wasn’t here right now, that didn’t mean that Klaus had to revert to the useless idiot he had been before, unable to manage his own feelings, unable to control his own body. He dragged in a trembling breath, right down to his diaphragm. He could do this. He had to be better than how he used to be, because otherwise Ben was right, and he had never learnt, and without Ben he was _nothing,_ and-

No, stop. 

He told himself:

Let the breath out, slow, the slowest you can manage. Right. No more thinking. Just focus on the moment. Your toes. Nothing else exists but your toes. Now, tense them, as tight as you can. Hold it. Hold it. Now, let it go. Do you feel that? The difference? Tension. Relaxation. You can do this. Now, your ankles.

He carried on.

By the time he got to his stomach muscles, he had stopped shaking so hard.

Klaus fell asleep before he reached his face.

-

He was digging. Hands and knees. Hands and knees?

Digging. Digging.

He had to find. Find.

What?

He was digging with his hands, clawing at the earth, but the dirt that ran from his eyes, from his ears, was filling up the hole. A cycle. A circle.

A dog barked. Or he barked? There was noise, but the noise was far away, or he was far away. Everything was far away. Except for the digging.

What was he digging for?

Faster, faster, faster.

His hands bled. He bled. Faster.

He was scared. He was cold and alone and so scared.

He wanted to go home.

No. No. This was wrong.

Go back.

He was digging. 

Why was he digging? Why was he digging?

Down was up. Up was down.

_Help me._

He was digging. He was- 

He was trying to get out. 

They were burying him.

_No, no, no. Please._

_Let me out. Let me out._

_Please._

He was sorry. Listen. Listen. He was _sorry_. 

The dirt was crushing him. He couldn’t dig fast enough. Dirt just fell inward, weighing on his lungs, suffocating.

_Please. Ben-_

-

Klaus awoke with a crashing gasp. He was trapped. He needed to- to-

The blanket had tangled around him. He shoved it off of himself. 

Normally, when he had a nightmare - a common occurrence, in his life - Ben was there when he woke up, reminding him what was real, snapping him out of it. Now, it lingered on his skin like sweat, dragging at his limbs, like it wanted to suck him back to the dirt and the digging. He shivered. 

Low morning light filtered into the room, letting him know that night had passed. He must have been asleep for a while, despite feeling like he had just closed his eyes, like no time at all had passed.

Ben was still gone.

The panic that he had pushed down last night was alight in his blood, tightening his lungs and speeding up his heart. This was the longest he had gone without Ben since- well, since Ben died. It reminded him, in a way, of those raw, aching days he had spent after Ben’s death, waiting to see whether his ghost would find him. He remembered how he dealt with that; it had been his first time trying heroin. He remembered the sweet, gentle relief, like everything was going to be okay.

God, he wanted to be _numb_ again.

He didn't have much cash on him, certainly not enough to afford anything illicit, and if he took any more out of his bank, then he wouldn't be able to pay the electricity bill, and Ben would be furious with him if he came back. 

When. When he came back.

That was fine, though. Klaus could find some cash, and then he could be _numb._

Klaus rushed to dress himself, a pair of black jeans that he had shredded with one of Diego's knives in his teens, and a black hoodie which he suspected had been Ben's. He didn't spare much thought on it. Already, his mind had gotten wrapped up in the concept of pharmaceutical numbness.

He didn't have anything of value in his room, but he knew that Reginald would have plenty of stupidly expensive antiques in his office, and, well, it's not like he was going to miss them. 

The house was quiet as he crept along the hallways. He wondered if the rest of his siblings had left already, funeral done, family responsibilities fulfilled. He wasn't even sure why he was still here, except that he didn't like the idea of Ben coming back and not finding him. He didn't want Ben to think he had just _abandoned_ him. 

Trespassing into Reggie's office held an inherent thrill, a sense of rebellion that had been instilled too deeply to ever really forget. 

The door was unlocked. Klaus hadn’t expected that; their father had always kept everything firmly secret, stashed away. He supposed that there was no reason for secrecy now. It was easy for Klaus to slip a Fabergé egg into his pocket, to stuff a silver letter opener beside it. Truthfully, he was hoping to encounter some cash, but he vaguely recalled a pawn shop nearby if nothing else.

He ducked down to rifle through the desk drawers, finding a heavy, fancy box, inlaid with pearls. Yeah, he thought, that should work.

Klaus scrambled to put his shoes on, not bothering to find his coat, despite the damp chill in the air. He elected to escape the back way, praying that he didn't encounter anyone whilst his hoodies pockets were heavy with stolen goods. 

He barely stopped to open the box, tossing the papers inside into the dumpster. Good riddance to it.

"Klaus?"

He startled, the box slipping from his fingers and into the dumpster, following its contents. "Shit," he hissed, whirling around to see Five at the mouth of the alley, peering down it with his eyes narrowed. “Five? I-”

“What are you doing?” questioned Five, arms folded.

He looked back at the dumpster, panicking. “I- Well-”

“Y’know,” interrupted Five. “I just realised: I don’t care.”

Klaus made a small, involuntary noise at that. 

Five softened slightly, his shoulders dropping their edge, and he looked away. “Look. I need a favour. Have you still got those clothes from the funeral?”

“What- I mean, yes, but-”

“Good. Get dressed, meet me at the front door in five minutes.”

“What for?” Klaus asked, resisting the urge to leap into the dumpster after his haul. Every second that he delayed, the longer it would take for him to get the sweet relief of a high. 

“It’s important,” Five said vaguely. “And you need to look respectable.”

“Respectable,” echoed Klaus, expression dubious. He had been called a lot of things, but he had never quite been put together enough to be called ‘respectable’.

Five shifted impatiently. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you do it.”

Reginald’s box forgotten, Klaus agreed, “Let me go get changed.”

The funeral clothes were wrinkled from spending the night on the floor, and smelled stale from the rain, but Klaus spritzed himself with an old perfume from one of his drawers and tucked his shirt in, deciding that it was as good as it would get.

Five seemed to deem him suitable, at least. “Let’s go,” he said, already halfway out the door.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” Klaus asked hesitantly.

“I need you to pretend to be my father,” Five said casually, stepping out to hail down a taxi.

“I’m sorry?” 

A sigh. “Right now, I look like a teenager. No one takes me seriously,” Five said through gritted teeth. A taxi stopped beside them, and Five ducked inside. Klaus followed, eyes fixed on his smaller brother. “I need information, but this asshole won’t listen, just keeps patronising me instead. That’s where you come in.” He leant forward. “You know where Meritech is?”

The taxi driver glanced back. “Sure thing, kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Klaus gave a nervous laugh, his leg bobbing up and down. “He’s just kidding.”

“Uh, sure,” was the only response he got.

“So,” Klaus said. “Do we have, like, a backstory?”

“Why would we need a backstory?” Five asked, already exasperated.

Shrinking back into his seat, Klaus said, “No, of course, sorry.”

Five narrowed his eyes, scrutinising, and Klaus felt like he was being picked apart. “You aren’t how Vanya described you.”

Vanya’s book had been, to put it bluntly, a real bitch to read. Her final impressions of him were not kind. It was like a snapshot of the worst parts of himself, the person who he used to be, selfish and flighty and self destructing in slow motion. “I got sober. Got better,” he explained, voice thick. The words were bitter in his mouth. Only five minutes earlier, he had been planning how to get his hands on the same drugs he had sworn off of. Ben would be ashamed of him.

It seemed his explanation was not satisfactory; Five just humphed, looking away, a clear dismissal.

Too soon, they were pulling up outside a tall, professional looking building, and anxiety grew like a knot in his stomach. “So- So what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Just follow my lead,” Five muttered, striding up the steps.

It became quickly apparent that Five had been there before, if the receptionist’s wary recognition was anything to go by. Five gave her a thin smile and apologised for his previous behaviour - what exactly that entailed, Klaus didn’t want to know - and before long, they had wrangled their way into a meeting with one Mr Biggs.

From there, it became clear what the situation was: Five wanted information on the owner of a prosthetic eye. However, Biggs was unwilling to give it to him. Klaus had lived in the adult world long enough to know that these kinds of rules weren’t easily bent. Five’s strategy of demanding and intimidation weren’t getting him far, especially considering he looked like a stroppy thirteen year old rather than a genuine threat. Klaus’ mind was racing to find a solution, to diffuse the situation.

“As I said before,” Biggs said apologetically, “I can’t give you that information without the patient’s consent.”

“Okay, we understand,” blurted Klaus, immediately earning an outraged look from Five that had him wanting to hide under the desk. “But before we go, could I have a quick word with you? In private?” He tilted his head toward his brother meaningfully. 

Biggs looked relieved at that. “Of course.”

“Kid, you mind waiting outside?” Klaus asked carefully, holding his breath.

A beat. “Sure,” Five said, eyes calculating.

Klaus held still, waiting until the door shut after Five, before saying, “I’m sorry for him. He’s not… usually like that.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Biggs waved him off graciously. “I have a nephew his age. They can be real terrors.”

“Well,” hedged Klaus. “It’s not just that. He’s had a tough time of things recently.”

Biggs made a sympathetic noise. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s-” he cleared his throat. “Well. He got diagnosed a few years ago - cancer. He’s gone through chemo, radiotherapy, experimental treatments, a bunch of drugs that I can’t pronounce. He’s a real trooper.”

“ _Oh._ That’s- that’s awful. Is it…?”

Bottom lip trembling just slightly, Klaus said, “They’re operating next week. Taking his leg- right up to his thigh.”

“God. I can’t imagine,” Biggs said, face pale, eyes wide. 

Klaus shook his head, taking a shaky breath. “Honestly, I think I’m more scared than he is. He’s just talking about all the cool colours that prosthetics come in, nowadays.”

Laughing sadly, Biggs said, “Must be a special kid.”

“He really is,” Klaus said with a wobbly smile. “I think that’s why he got so hung up on the idea of returning the eye. Seems to think it’s like a _quest._ Like it’s meant to be, y’know? He really wanted to get it done before he went in for the op.”

Biggs scratched his jaw, uncomfortable. “I am sorry we can’t give you the name. Protocol, you know how it is.”

“No, no, I understand,” he quickly replied, waving him off. “I’ll talk to him about it. It’s just hard. I wish his mother were here, she was always better at this stuff than me.”

“You seem like a good dad,” Biggs protested. “Don’t sell yourself short. Are you two separated?”

“No, she- she died. Car accident. Almost a year ago now,” Klaus said, blinking back tears that weren’t coming. 

“Damn,” Biggs said softly. Then, “Oh, to hell with it.”

“What?” asked Klaus.

“Look,” Biggs said, leaning in close. “You gotta promise you won’t tell anyone about this, alright? But- come with me. I’ll get you that name.”

“Really?” Klaus breathed. “Wow, thank you, thank you so much. Really.”

“Seems like you deserve some good luck,” Biggs said kindly. “Come on.”

The way Klaus’ smile warped at that was more authentic this time. “Thank you.”

Five all but pounced as soon as they came through the door. “So?” 

“I think we can bend the rules a little, under the circumstances,” Biggs said with a smile

“Great,” Five said quickly. 

Klaus let out a breath of relief. He had been sure that he would fail Five, messing everything up as usual, but it seemed the universe was on his side for once. 

And then, of course, it all went to shit. 

“This eye… hasn’t even been manufactured yet. How did you get this?”

Five cursed, turning on his heel and storming out, leaving Klaus to flounder.

“That's strange, must be some kind of error. I’d best go see if he’s okay. Thank you for your time!” Klaus said, all in a rush, words bleeding together.

"Sure," Biggs said, confused. "And good luck with everything!"

Outside, Five was pacing, jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. 

Klaus fretully asked, “Is everything okay?”

Five shot him a burning look. “ _No,_ everything’s not okay. I just lost my only lead!”

Shrinking back, Klaus said, “Sorry. Did I- Do you want me to go back?”

For a moment, Klaus feared that he had made things worse, Five frozen in place, but then he seemed to deflate, dropping down to sit on the steps. “No. You got me the information I wanted; it’s the answer that I didn’t like.”

His chest loosened at the reassurance. He cautiously sat by Five’s side. “So, whoever’s eye that was… they haven’t gotten it yet?”

“Guess not. But they must get it in the next seven days.”

"Then the eye must be in manufacturing now. I guess you could stake this place out?" Klaus suggested.

"I guess that's my only option," Five said.

Klaus chewed on a nail. He felt like he should ask about- well, all of it. Five's reappearance, the future, what the owner of a prosthetic eye has to do with anything. He didn't think Five would want him to pry, though. Five had always been fiercely independent, a problem solver with little time for other people, his mind always moving faster than the people around him.

Eventually, Klaus settled on asking, "So about that twenty bucks..?" 

It was, evidently, the wrong question. "God, is that all you can think about? You're twenty bucks?"

Twitching away from him, Klaus defended, "I had to take time off work for the funeral, and I barely make my rent as it is." It was truthful, but he was excluding the part where he had been considering using the money to relapse.

Five sighed, and tossed a note onto the ground at his feet. "Fine, but your rent won't matter if we don't make it to the end of the month."

Alarmed, Klaus asked, "What does that mean?"

Except that it was too late; Five was already gone, waving sardonically from the taxi as he passed.

"Bastard," Klaus muttered fondly.

It seemed he would be walking home.


	4. Indecision, A Lack Of Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it only get's worse from here boys

Ben wasn't coming back.

That was what Klaus was thinking as he stared up at his ceiling. He had gone back to the academy after the whole thing with Five. He wasn’t quite sure why. He thought that maybe it was the idea of going back to their apartment alone, seeing all the spaces that Ben should be occupying, having to face that he really had fucked up this time. Maybe he was worried that Ben would come back and Klaus wouldn’t be there waiting for him. He didn’t want Ben to feel like Klaus didn’t care, like he had just moved on with his life.

The problem with that was Klaus had ended up, again, attempting to sleep in his childhood bedroom, which was a disaster waiting to happen. That space was so deeply entrenched in bad memories, and he was unable to stop waiting for- something. For his dad to tear him from his bed in the middle of the night. For the ghosts to break through his fragile walls, to hound him and scream. 

It wasn’t exactly conducive to sleep.

When the twitchiness started to develop into a full on tremor, Klaus levered himself out of bed, frenetic energy building in his thighs, under his fingernails. He couldn’t just lie there anymore. He had nowhere to go, and he suspected that if he left the house, he would end up in some dingy alleyway, selling his hard earned money for whatever high was available.

He paced the length of his room. It was possibly the smallest room of all, except for maybe Vanya’s, which sat next door. It was narrow, barely fitting the bed across it, and the way he had filled the walls with scribbles and doodles and the occasional lighter burns only made them feel closer, the whole space claustrophobic and closing in. 

Klaus opened his wardrobe, hoping for a distraction. He used to love fashion, love the way clothes made him feel, like he was individual, like he was _special._ He still played around with it a little, from time to time, but he mostly wore either his work uniform or his pyjamas. He still rocked the occasional skirt. Klaus couldn’t make himself give them up entirely. On the whole, though, his style had… well, Ben would say it had matured. Less over the top. Less attention grabbing. Just… less.

With careful hands, he pulled out items of his wardrobe, the ones that Reginald had never allowed him to wear, the ones that he only wore when he snuck out at night. It’s strange. They were still his size. He thought that he should be different, somehow. He _felt_ different. Could he still wear clothes as bold as this? The sequins, the tie dye, the neon colours and the lace and the crop tops. Nothing was stopping him. Not even Ben.

First, though, he decided to take a bath. He might as well start the day. It was past four in the morning, and he didn’t think he would be getting any more sleep. 

Klaus was careful to shut the door fully before he started running the water. He didn’t want to wake up any other potential residents, didn’t want to answer questions or earn their anger. He just wanted to _breathe._ It was hard enough with Ben not being there, so many decisions to make, not enough guidance on what the right answer was. If the others got mad at him too, he didn’t know if he would survive it.

The ghost seemed louder.

He wasn't sure if his fatigue was letting them closer, or if they had noticed that he was alone, that he was vulnerable. Either way, Klaus found himself unable to close his eyes in case he was sneaked up on. It made him regret not buying any drugs. When he was riding a high, he could just let go of it, the hand he kept on the door between his world and theirs. Instead, he was left to hold them at bay, the proverbial Atlas, the weight of an entire plane of existence on his shoulders. 

He shook those thoughts off, and busied himself with pouring copious amounts of bubble bath into the water. It was a luxury that he hadn’t been able to afford in a long time. It wasn’t heroin, but it was about as close he could get to it, he thought as he slipped into the tub. Muscles he hadn’t realised were aching began to relax and melt. 

Belatedly, he wished that he had remembered his walkman. It was always a little easier to breathe when he had music. Ben didn’t allow it often - it was rude, Klaus knew, to put headphones on when Ben was right there - but it helped when the ghosts were buzzing at higher than usual frequency. Instead, he now was left with his thoughts, and the shrieks that managed to reach him through the walls.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. In fact, he didn’t even remember closing his eyes. All he remembered was- _quiet._ The first true quiet he had experienced in a while. An absence in his ears, and clarity in his brain. 

Then,

His lungs were on fire. 

Klaus burst upright, water splattering the tiles. He coughed, choking on the water he had taken in in his panic, gasping for air. The realisation that he could have died like that, drowned in his sleep as result of his own stupidity, utterly incompetent without Ben at his side, struck him cold. His eyes watered. Ben had often joked how Klaus wouldn’t survive without him, and here he was, proving him right. His cheeks reddened with shame. It had barely been 24 hours, and he was already dancing along the line between life and death.

The water was cold. Belatedly, he realised that morning had come whilst he took his ill advised doze, bleaching the walls and his skin pale. He could hear, faintly, the sounds of movement in the house as the day began, Luther’s heavy footsteps and mom’s sharp ones. He was surprised that no one had hammered at the door yet, cursing whoever was hogging the bathroom. He half expected the ring of the mission bell and his father’s harsh voice to join in.

Klaus drained the bath, hands shaking with cold. He wrapped a towel around himself, and another around his hair, a habit that Ben always teased him for. He hated to feel cold water dripping down his neck; it was too similar to the sensation of a ghost passing through him. 

He opened his closet door with a little more enthusiasm than the day before. Klaus had idly been thinking of the clothes he had found in there, when he could gather himself enough to think in a straight line. He didn’t want Ben to come back to a complete disaster, so he would rather that he were dressed and clean, even if the clothes weren’t necessarily ones that Ben would approve of. Beyond that, too, Klaus was secretly, ashamedly excited to try those clothes on. 

With fingers that trembled just slightly, he parsed through the clothes. They were all so skimpy. Klaus was always half-frozen, always had been. It seemed strange to him, that he had once been so willing to feel so cold, all in the service of looking- well, pretty _fantastic._ But still. 

He fumbled to pull out a skirt - long enough to float around his shins. It was a deep emerald in colour. He matched it with a white woolen sweater, pulling it down to cover his knuckles. He found a pair or rainbow socks that he had always regretted not taking with him when he left, and it was almost enough to make him smile. They were quickly hidden away under his boots.

Breakfast. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but it would be better that he ate something here than if he used up the sparse stock in his cupboards back home. 

In the kitchen, he picked out some fruit - steering well clear of the oatmeal that had been their breakfast for years on end - and yogurt to go with it. He indulged in a cup of breakfast tea, too, with a healthy dollop of honey. He breathed in the steam, and imagined the heat of it spreading down his limbs, warming his icy fingers. 

“Master Klaus.”

Klaus startled hard, tea slopping over the sides and singing his fingers. He hissed, and stuck them in his mouth, before turning to the voice. “Pogo?”

The chimp stepped into the room, footsteps interspersed with the _thunk_ of his cane. “You look well,” he greeted.

“Thanks,” Klaus said, stilted. 

Pogo cleared his throat. “I can’t help but notice that a few of your father’s possessions seem to have gone missing.”

Klaus felt his heart thump painfully against his ribs. “Really?” he said, lips numb.

“Indeed,” Pogo said knowingly.

“I- I-” Klaus stammered, choking on apologies which were nothing but a confession of guilt.

“Now, it’s quite clear to me that you are not the mischievous child that you once were,” said Pogo, “and I’m quite sure that you would not take anything without good reason. However, the contents of that box were… priceless. Now, if you were to return the box, then I will say no more about it. Understood?”

He nodded feverently. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

Pogo hesitated, eyes inquisitive. “Are you quite alright, Master Klaus?”

“Um,” said Klaus. “Yes?”

“Well,” Pogo shifted. “If there’s anything the matter… you do know that you can talk to me, any time?”

Klaus didn’t, in fact, know that. The pair of them hadn’t spoken in years. Did Pogo really expect him to confide in him? “Thanks,” Klaus said lamely.

With a parting nod, Pogo shuffled back out, leaving Klaus to frown at his back.

After Pogo left, he picked at his breakfast. Any hunger was decidedly gone. A sick feeling curled in his stomach, guilt and anxiety stewing, a familiar feeling. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been yesterday, stealing from his own dead father like that. Now that the urge to get high had eased off (although still, as ever, present) he could see it for what it was: selfishness. He was just proving Ben right. How could Klaus expect his brother to stick around with someone who behaved like that, someone who went so low as to steal from his own dead father only hours after the funeral? 

Klaus braced himself, and marched out to the dumpster.

It had been a while since Klaus had last partaken in dumpster diving. He had thought that those days were behind him, but this week was demonstrating that his past wasn't as distant as he had thought. He took a moment to gather his skirt, twisting it into a knot, as to keep it out of the way of the trash he was about to wade through. There was nothing to be done for his boots, so he just sighed and accepted that he would be scrubbing them clean later.

He used the nearby fire escape to get some height - the same way he used to sneak out at night, back in his teens - before leaping into the dumpster. He winced at the way it squelched under his shoes. The Klaus of the past had always been too off his face to care too much about the whole _rotting trash_ part of dumpster diving, but now he was all too aware of it, the smell almost making his eyes water.

It didn't look like it had been emptied recently, which was a good sign that the box and its contents were still here. He used the toe of his boots to disturb the surface, hoping that he might locate it without getting his hands too dirty. He quickly found the box, still hear the top. The contents, though, the journal and papers, were nowhere to be found. He searched, increasingly frantic, but with no results. “Shit,” he muttered.

Then, a loud clang from above.

“Oh,” Five said flatly, “you again.”

Klaus grimaced. “You know there are easier ways out of the house, buddy?”

Five dropped from the ladder, a huge rucksack swinging on his back, almost as large as him. “This one involved the least amount of talking. Or so I thought.”

“Oh, sorry,” Klaus said, biting his lip. He had always been a little too chatty, whether people wanted to hear it or not. 

“It’s fine,” sighed Five. 

“So, uh,” Klaus hedged, wading across to the edge of the dumpster. “You want any more company today?”

“No, today’s just the stake out,” Five said, already walking away.

Klaus knew what that meant: Five didn’t want to spend so long stuck with Klaus. It was understandable. “Right, well- good luck!” he called after him, watching as he got into a van that Klaus was pretty sure he didn’t own. Could Five even drive?

His question was answered when Five skidded out onto the road. He shrugged it off. Five was more competent than the rest of the academy put together.

He continued to dig through the trash until his cheeks were stinging from the cold wind, and he felt that he had been out there for hours. Whatever was in there, it was gone now, nothing Klaus did would change that. He would just have to apologise to Pogo… or maybe just avoid him until it blew over. 

Defeated, he stomped back inside, deciding to make some more tea to warm back up. The kitchen, however, was not as empty as last time. Mom was standing at the cooker, absently stirring a pan. 

“Mom?” he said, hesitantly. He hadn’t really spoken to her since being back. Klaus had mixed feelings on her; Grace had always been kind to him, but was that the same as loving him? Ben had always reminded him that she wasn’t real, just an extension of their father, a poor replacement for the mothers that hadn’t wanted them. 

She turned, a smile fixed on her unaging face. “Bumblebee!” she said.

Klaus couldn’t deny that something in his chest thawed at the old nickname. “Hi,” he said softly. “How have you- been?” It was a stupid question, really. Could she even feel things like that? 

“Oh, just fine, except for missing you children,” she sang, turning back to the pan she was stirring.

A wave of guilt hit him. “Sorry,” he said, “for leaving like that.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she assuaged him. “I’m just glad that you’re back now.”

“Me too,” he said, although it was only half honest. Then, he frowned. There was a smell in the air like burning, except that mom _never_ burned things, wasn’t capable of it. “Mom? What are you cooking?”

“The oatmeal, of course,” she said. “You children need your breakfast if you’re going to grow up big and strong!”

“Mom, it’s the afternoon,” Klaus said, brows pinched.

Grace seemed to freeze for a moment, like she was lagging, expression unnervingly still, before she said, “Oh, how silly of me. I must have- lost track of time.”

Klaus bit his lip. How was that possible? “Are you sure you’re alright?” he said, touching her shoulder hesitantly. 

She smiled brightly. “Of course, bumblebee.”

“Okay,” he said, not at all comforted. He poured the hot water over his teabag, trying to distract himself from his worry. Now that he was thinking about it, he did remember Allison saying something about mom being strange. But then, it had been almost a decade - maybe it was natural that she would change somewhat over that time. 

His pondering was cut short when Luther’s figure appeared at the doorway, having to duck his head slightly. “Klaus?”

He twitched. “Yes?” he asked. Something about Luther unsettled him, his huge frame cutting off the exit. 

“Have you seen Five?” questioned Luther.

“Uhh…” Klaus hesitated. Would Five want him to keep yesterday a secret? He hadn’t explicitly said so, but maybe he had assumed that no one would bother to ask Klaus. 

_“Klaus,”_ Luther barked.

“Sorry,” Klaus stammered, “I mean, yes, I have.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Um. Meritech?”

Luther blinked. “Meri-what?”

“It’s a prosthetics lab.” 

“Why-” Luther cut himself off, shaking his head. “Whatever. We need to find him, and bring him home. I’m calling a family meeting.” He glanced at Grace out of the corner of his eye, and then back at Klaus.

“Okay,” said Klaus.

Luther shifted. “So? Can you take me to him?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Klaus said nervously.

The pair ended up getting a taxi to Meritech. Klaus couldn’t drive, and Luther- well, he knew how, but Klaus suspected that he would struggle to fit in the driver's seat comfortably. The back of the taxi was a close fit, Klaus keeping his shoulders tight and knees locked together, taking up the least space possible as to not touch Luther. The two had never been close, and he didn’t feel like Luther would be happy with him cuddling up to him. 

The silence was stifling. Klaus desperately wanted to say something, anything to break it, but he knew very little about what Luther had been up to in the past decade, and didn’t want to stumble across a touchy subject. He assumed _something_ had to have gone down, to explain the way he had doubled in size since then, but he doubted Luther would want to talk about it, especially to him. 

After they pulled up by Meritech, Luther said, “So where is he? Inside?”

“Nope,” said Klaus. “He’s there.”

“Where?” said Luther, squinting at where Klaus had pointed.

“The van.”

“The van?” Luther echoed.

Klaus nodded, trotting around to the van. Luther followed like a shadow. Klaus tried not to feel too nervous, but his stomach rolled. He hoped that Five wouldn’t be too angry with him.

Luther stepped forward and wrenched open the door to the passenger side. Klaus elected to hang back, chewing on a hangnail. He was close enough to hear Five demand, “How did you find me?”

Wincing, Klaus stepped forward so that he was visible through the window. “Uh, hi, Five.”

Five huffed, nostrils flaring. “You can’t be here. I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sorry,” Klaus said. “Any luck with the stake out?”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Luther.

“Does it matter? It’s Klaus.”

Klaus felt his face heat up. The sentiment was a familiar one, but it still stung.

“Shit,” muttered Five. “Just- what do you want?”

Luther said, “Um. So, Grace may have had something to do with Dad's death. So I need you to come back to the academy, all right? It's important.”

_Exsqueeze me?_

“You have no _concept_ of what’s important,” Five snarled.

“Hey, okay,” Klaus said in a weak attempt to de-escalate the situation. “I think Five’s pretty busy here, but I’m sure that we could fill him in later, right?”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Luther said, “What the hell are you up to, Five?”

“Believe me, you wouldn't understand,” Five dismissed him.

Luther challenged, “Try me.”

“Guys, let’s not…”

“You couldn’t even begin to comprehend-”

“I’m still the leader of this family-”

Klaus felt his breathing pick up. “Please, guys. Luther, let’s just go.”

Five looked at him for a moment, and said, “Look, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Okay? But this is life and death stuff.”

“Life and death?” Luther asked. “Look, if it’s that serious, we could help. We’re still The Umbrella Academy.”

Except, thought Klaus, that wasn’t really true, was it?

Softening slightly, Five said, “I know. But I’ve got this. If I need help, I know where you find you, alright?”

“Fine,” Luther said reticently. “We can catch you up on the meeting later, okay?”

“Okay, good,” said Five. “Now get out.”

The fragile sense of fraternity shattered. “Okay, we’re going,” Klaus said.

They ended up getting another taxi back home. It was lucky that Luther had enough cash on him to afford it; Klaus wasn’t willing to break into the 20 that Five had given him. Just in case he needed it.

It was still stiff and silent on the way back. Klaus couldn’t help but think that Luther was disappointed in him. After all, he had failed to bring Five back with him, which was the only aim of the trip. 

Then, after a tense few minutes, Luther said, “Is he okay? Five?”

Klaus gaped for a moment, thrown. “Uh. I don’t know.”

“I mean,” he continued awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. “This whole thing with Meritech - is he in danger?”

“I- I don’t think so,” Klaus ventured. “At least, not from that. He’s trying to find someone.”

Luther nodded at that. “Alright. Okay, good.”

After that, they sank back into silence, but it was a little less frigid than before.

The family meeting began like this:

Luther had a little TV sat on the bar, a shot from the CCTV camera in their father’s bedroom, which- Klaus tried not to wonder why Luther had been watching their father’s bedroom. The screen was black and white, fuzzy, but it was crisp enough to see their father, their mother, the tea, and Grace’s inaction.

“Do you really think mom would hurt dad?” asked Vanya, disbelieving. 

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya. Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore,” Luther said, voice low.

“If he was poisoned, it would have shown on the coroner's report,” pointed out Diego.

“Well,” said Luther, “I don’t need a report to know what I can see with my eyes.”

Klaus felt ill.

Their mom wouldn’t- would she? Was she even capable of that?

The same woman who called him _bumblebee,_ who made him hot cocoa when he couldn’t sleep?

But then, he recalled how she had been acting earlier, forgetting when it was, burning the oatmeal. Who was to say she even knew what she had done?

Then, Diego pointed out, “The monocle’s gone. She was taking it. To clean it.”

“Oh,” said Klaus, slumping slightly. Maybe she hadn’t realised that Reginald was in distress, was simply doing her job as usual?

And then, of course, the real kicker: “I took it. After the funeral.”

“You’ve had the monocle this whole time? What the hell, Diego?” Allison said, incredulous.

Any relief that Klaus had felt was evaporating fast. He could see the way everyone was falling back into old patterns, defiant and angry, practically waiting for a punch to be thrown. His palms began to sweat. He wished Ben were there.

Then Vanya interjected, “She was programmed to intervene if someone’s life was in jeopardy.”

Then, even worse than that, “-we need to turn her off.”

The air seemed to be sucked from the room. Klaus shook his head. Turn her off? As in, murdering her? Their own mother?

Everyone was taking sides, lines drawn in the sand. Allison was with Luther. Vanya with Diego.

“What about you, stoner boy?” asked Diego.

Klaus felt his cheeks burn at that. “I’m _sober,”_ he said tightly.

Diego rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What’s it gonna be?”

Through gritted teeth, Klaus said, “As much as I hate to give you the satisfaction- We can’t do this. She’s our _mom.”_

Vanya reminded them that they had to wait for Five, anyway, and the conversation was tabled. _Meeting adjourned._

The casualness with which they discussed murder was chilling.

Klaus felt sick. His skin crawled with it, his stomach churned. And on top of all that, Diego's careless comment echoed inside his skull. Another reminder that no one would ever see him as more than that; a no good junkie.

He stopped at the bar, and swiped a bottle of whiskey before making his way upstairs. If his reputation was unchangeable, he may as well earn it, right? It barely counted as a relapse anyway. Who didn't indulge in a drink now and then?

He pottered around his room aimlessly, taking deep swigs of his drink, relishing in the burn of it, the way it warmed him from the inside out. Ben wasn't here. What did it matter if he was sober? What use was he?

Eventually, he found his Walkman and slipped the headphones on. The music was like a balm, soothing his racing mind, and he sank to the floor, laying out like a starfish. The flatness of it stretched his back, eased the ache in his neck. It was great. Everything was just so great.

After so many years of abstinence, the whiskey hit him hard, rocking the walls and drowning out the voices. He basked in the gentle peace, melting bonelessly into the carpet.

And so, pleasantly drunk and humming along to his music, feet flexing in time like a conductor's baton, Klaus never saw Hazel coming.


	5. Help Me To Decide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for violence/bodily fluids/panic attacks and all that fun stuff

His hands were going numb. 

There were other things that hurt more - his head, namely, and his hips where they were twisted strangely to fit inside the small space of the truck - but it was his hands that Klaus kept going back to. They were just so numb. He knew he should be searching for the taillights, like how Reginald had taught them, kicking them out or whatever, but he couldn’t find them because his hands were _numb._

Klaus wondered if he was going into shock. He felt strangely calm, like his brain went numb with his hands. He should be panicking. Not just because of the situation, the kidnapping, but also because of the dark, and the way it usually tugged on bad memories, the ones he spent so much time pushing down. Instead, he just lay there, quiet, thinking about his hands.

Then the trunk opened, and the panic that he hadn’t been feeling hit him like a freight train, like his first time trying edibles and how it hit him all at once. His brain shrieked at him to _run, fight, do something_ , but there was nothing to do but scream, eyes wide, body quivering. 

The big guy slung Klaus over his shoulder. Upside-down, blood pooled in his head, making his temple pulse angrily in protest. He wanted to yell, to shout _don’t touch me_ but his mouth was taped over. He twisted, fighting to see where he was, where they were taking him. He caught sight of cars, grey tarmac, doors, and then he was inside, in a room. A motel. He had spent many nights in seedy places like this, and they all looked the same. 

Everything was moving strangely, jagged, like the shutter of a camera, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol or the head trauma. Click: he was thrown onto a chair. Click: the women stepped closer. Click: she lifted his chin roughly, eyeing him like a tiger watching its prey. He cried out.

“Now listen here,” she said, voice slow. “There’s two ways this can go: either you tell me what I want to know, or I hurt you _real bad,_ and _then_ you tell me what I want to know.”

He said- something. He wasn’t sure what, just words, maybe nonsense. It didn’t matter much. It never came out, stuck behind the tape on his mouth.

“Here’s my question. Where is Number Five?” she asked, and then, as if to punctuate her question, she tore off the tape. He could feel his lip tear slightly where he often chewed on it.

His tongue darted out and he tasted copper. “F-Five?” he echoed shakily, flinching at the sound of his own voice. 

“Are you deaf? Yes, Five.”

Klaus twitched. Where was Five? At Meritech, probably, searching for his one eyed suspect. He could tell them that, and buy himself a reprieve, but at what cost? His brother’s safety? Was he selfish enough to take that risk? The old Klaus would have, without thought, but this new version, this _better_ version?

He must have hesitated too long, because he earned himself a backhand. It was sharp and hot against his cheek. He cried out, involuntarily, at the shock of it.

"I don't know. I- I'm sorry, I don't know," said Klaus.

His kidnappers shared a glance. The big guy stepped closer, and Klaus shrank back into his chair. "Look, kid," the man said, voice reasonable. "You seem like a good person, an honest person. You're caught up in something much bigger than yourself. I get it, okay? You can't choose your family."

Klaus nodded frantically, eyes wide.

The man crouched down. It might have been comforting, but it just gave Klaus a better view of the mask, the cold black eyes shining dully. "This loyalty? It's only gonna get you hurt."

Klaus swallowed convulsively. "But I really don't know anything," he said. The mask stared back at him.

The woman sighed. "Alright, we gave it a shot." She slipped a pack of cigarettes, lighting up in one graceful move. It burned bright, and he wondered how she was going to take a drag with that helmet over her head, and then-

It hissed as she held it against the skin of his collarbone.

"Fuck!" Klaus yelped, straining again the back of the chair as he attempted to evade the burn. His eyes filled with tears, and his cheeks flushed with humiliation. “Stop, please, I’m sorry, I-”

The woman laughed. “Damn, never seen anyone break so quick.”

Klaus felt sick with shame. He was weak, and now these two knew it too, just like his father had known it, just like Ben knew it. His shoulders shook, head hanging low. “Please,” he gasped. 

“Incredible,” chuckled the man. “Crying like a baby.”

The woman ducked her face closer, and Klaus could almost see her smile despite the pink mask. “You ready to tell us yet?”

Klaus twisted his neck, attempting to wipe his tears on the wool of his sweater. “I don’t know anything,” he repeated.

She sighed, standing up and just watching him for a moment. 

She lit another cigarette. 

-

Klaus sobbed.

Any pretence of bravery had been burned out of him… oh, seven cigarettes ago. 

And the kettle was boiling.

His breath was coming in gasps, faster, faster. 

The woman tapped her foot, impatient. Eager. The man shifted, leaned back against the wall, as if bored. Klaus gasped, and gasped for breath. He wondered whether he would pass out. It would be a blessing, he thought, and prayed hard that he would.

_“Klaus?”_

His head shot up, bloodshot eyes wide and confused. “Ben?” he breathed. 

His brother stood in front of him, face slack with shock. “Klaus, I- What-”

The sounds of the water bubbling died out. The kettle was done boiling. Oh God, the kettle was done boiling.

“Tilt him back,” said the woman.

“No,” bleated Klaus, but the man was already obeying, angling the chair onto the back legs, and Klaus felt himself spin with the change.

She lifted the kettle, and held it high above his face. He screwed his eyes shut and turned away, afraid that she might blind him, and they might just continue hurting him whilst he couldn’t even _see,_ and-

A knife that he hadn’t noticed tore into his sweater, opening it up down the centre. His pale chest on show for the world to see. And then she poured the water.

Klaus _shrieked._

He twisted and writhed, straining to get away, _away, away_ from the pain that was blotting out the world, and he thought he could _hear_ his flesh singe and bubble, _fuck, oh god no-_

The chair dropped back to all four legs. Klaus jolted and sobbed, head hanging low, the twitch of his shoulders only serving to make his chest hurt worse. “Stop,” he babbled hopelessly. “Stop, stop, please-”

“Klaus,” said Ben, voice low and familiar, and Klaus latched on to it with the desperation of a drowning man, “Just listen to my voice, okay? I’m here, I’m with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Klaus cried. “Thank you.”

“Is he- Is he _thanking us?_ What kind of…” the woman said. Klaus could hear her, but it was distant, like she was speaking from across the room. 

Ben said, “That’s it, you’re good, you’re doing good.”

Klaus felt the praise like a hit of heroin, the pain and terror fuzzy and unimportant in the face of it. His shoulders slumped, and he sucked in a breath, steading. “Thank you.”

“The fuck are you thanking us for?” the woman asked, pulling his head back by his hair.

He blinked. “Not you.”

She dropped him, snorting. “Did we break him?”

The man shrugged his huge shoulders. “Maybe. Seemed the fragile kind.”

“Oh, for christ’s sake-” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “I’ll go get us breakfast, yeah? You just watch him.”

“Sure,” the man said. 

Klaus tried not to show his relief. The woman was by far the scarier of the two, the one who came up with the more gnarly ideas. The man was downright friendly by comparison.

After the door shut behind her, the man sunk down to sit on the foot of a bed, staring dead ahead for a moment. He pulled off his mask. 

Klaus tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. He hadn't really expected his torturers to be _people._ Somehow, that was terrifying in itself. The man had a soft, round face, with a full beard and blue eyes. Normal looking. Just a normal man, who happened to be in the business of torture.

The man ran a hand over his head. "Look, kid, I don't know if you're a liar, or you've got the shittest luck in the world, but either way, I suggest you tell her something soon, or it'll only get worse." 

The word _liar_ rattled around his brain. He had, somewhere along the way, forgotten why he was here. 

Ben stepped closer, arms folded. "Do you actually have information for them?"

Klaus nodded once, jaw clicking shut.

A sigh. "The shit you get yourself into," he said, shaking his head. "Alright, manifest me. Better now, whilst there's only one of them."

Giving up on keeping appearances, Klaus said, "I can't."

The man asked, "Can't what?"

Ben spoke over him. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"I-I'm not sober," Klaus explained miserably.

“You- _what?_ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry,” Klaus said, quickly dissolving into messy tears at his brothers naked disappointment.

His tears, as always, only irritated Ben further. “Don’t sit there crying about it, you baby. You fucked up, you _keep fucking up_. I should leave you here to rot.”

“No! No, Ben, please, please, don’t leave me-”

“Who the hell is Ben?” The question made Klaus remember that the two weren’t alone. 

Klaus looked at him, wary. “No one. He- He’s dead.”

The man actually seemed to soften at that slightly, something like pity twisting his features. He turned, and Klaus thought he might leave him alone for a moment, but instead he filled a cup of water, bringing over to Klaus. “Here,” he murmured, and Klaus drank eagerly, hoping that it might sober him up some.

“Thank you,” Klaus whispered.

Ben made a noise of disgust. “You’re so easily manipulated. He’s not your friend, dumbass.”

Right. Klaus shook himself, trying to get a grip on the situation. “I don’t know what to do,” he muttered.

“We just need to buy time until you’re sober. You said you have information for them?”

“But they’ll hurt Five,” Klaus whined.

“We won’t hurt your brother,” the man said softly. “We just need to talk to him, alright?”

“Well that’s a lie, obviously,” snorted Ben. “But it doesn’t matter. Fuck Five! He doesn’t give a shit about us, so you shouldn’t give a shit about him. He isn’t worth dying over.”

“He does care about me,” Klaus argued weakly. He tried to cling to the better moments, but then Five’s cold dismissal played behind his eyelids, the words _who cares, it’s Klaus,_ lingering like a bad taste. 

Ben smiled. “Cares so much that he disappeared? So much that he didn’t see you for sixteen years?”

Klaus shook. He wasn’t sure if it was his tears, or the fading adrenaline. “Please… Please, I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I promise, we won’t hurt him,” the man said.

The door opened. _Times up._

“Okay,” Klaus said, voice hitching. “Okay. I know where Five is.”

-

Klaus didn’t understand.

He had told them. He had _given them what they wanted._ Klaus had told them everything and it should have made it better, should have made them happy, but they _weren’t,_ and they were supposed to stop hurting him, and then they _hurt him more, he didn’t understand-_

As soon as the words _Meritech_ and _van_ had bled from his lips, they had manhandled him into the closet, tape slapped down over his mouth. He had tried to beg, to plead with them not to do it, anything but that, anything, but his words were unheard. The slam of the doors were just as final as those of the mausoleum.

Now, reality muddled and slipped. The walls greyed and crumbled and grew, and he couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t keep himself present. He battled with time itself and lost over and over.

He could hear ghosts wailing, his father’s stern voice, his own prayers, layered over each other until they were meaningless, static in his ears.

At one point, the sound of a hoover and tinny headphones. The cleaner didn’t even look in his direction.

Then, Ben’s voice cut through it all.

“You know what the worst part of being dead is? You're stuck. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to change.”

Klaus shuddered, a sob caught in his throat. He wanted to say sorry. He couldn’t even do that, couldn’t even apologise. He could feel Ben’s eyes on him, cold, angry, heavy on the back of his neck.

“That's the real torture, if you gotta know,” Ben continued, voice hard and unforgiving. “Watching your brother take for granted everything you lost - and pissing it all away.”

A wail broke loose, but it was muffled behind the tape. God, he was _sorry._ Didn’t he know that Klaus was sorry?

_Dad, I’m sorry, please, not there, not that, please-_

He was utterly, utterly wrecked. The only thing that kept him coming back to himself was the hurt of it all, the throb of his burns and the sting of his cuts. More embarrassingly, his bladder had gone from uncomfortable to genuine pain. Klaus crossed his legs. It was his own stupid fault, drinking all that alcohol, and then the water after that. 

The shrill sound of a ghost’s shout hit him like a slap. This one, he thought, might be real, just outside the door, not the echo of a memory. He was sobering - enough to hear them, but not enough to be _useful,_ not enough to manifest Ben - and it scared him as much as it inspired hope. 

Another yell, this one carrying words like _stabbed,_ and _scream,_ and _no one will hear you._

The closet walls dissolved, and he was back there, tiny and cold and weeping, and so so afraid. He could taste blood at the back of his throat from screaming until it tore. His fingernails split from clawing at the stone, as if his soft hands might dig him out, find some hidden fault line and aid his escape. He wanted out, _wanted out, please stop screaming, please, dad, dad, please-_

Klaus choked and spluttered on air, lightheaded. He couldn’t breathe, and everything hurt, and he was damp and-

Wait. What?

“Jesus, Klaus, really? You already cry like a baby, and now you piss yourself like one?”

Oh, fuck. He _had._ Shame rose like a tidal wave, cresting over him, drowning him. He shifted, and stickiness between his legs only drove him further into a dizzied feeling of humiliation, his brain a litany of _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ He was disgusting. _Dirty._

And then he was being dragged back out into the light. 

“Oh my god, he’s still here.”

A hysterical giggle. Where else would he be?

“Is that- oh lord.”

“Well, we did forget to give him bathroom breaks.”

The man sighed, and then dragged him further out into the center of the room. 

Klaus spoke, or tried to. 

“What’s he saying?” said the woman. Her mask was off, he realised. Her eyes were empty.

The tape was ripped from over his mouth, and words immediately poured out, slurred and barely intelligible. “Please, I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Please.”

The woman looked at him, hard. “Five knows now. We left him a message,” she said. “And when he comes for you, we’ll be ready.”

She pulled out a knife.

“No,” Klaus said. “No, please, no more-”

“Oh, stop your crying,” she spat. She took the blade to his hip, and Klaus braced himself for the bright sting, and she angled the blade and slit it-

His skirt tore like tissue paper. 

Klaus blinked. She pulled it off of him like a tablecloth trick, careful to avoid the wet patch, and carried it to the bathroom. He heard it hit the inside of the tub, and the tap ran for a minute. She came back empty handed.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“What? I didn’t want to have to smell it,” she defended. 

Crossing his legs, Klaus felt himself flushing. He felt exposed.

“This is what you get for wearing a skirt,” Ben said tiredly.

-

They had replaced the tape over his mouth, and left him sitting by the door. The woman had told him, “Stay there and sit quietly like a good boy, and we won’t hurt Number Five. Deal?”

Klaus had nodded so hard that his head hurt.

The ghosts were edging closer.

What had been flickering specters were now growing form, He could see them from the corners of his eyes, but not quite when he looked at them head on. Sobriety was inching over him. He thought he could feel it, his power, the quiet well inside of him. Not enough that Klaus could touch it, not graspable. Just beyond his reach.

He could feel the press of them, the pull. The ghosts. He was choking on them, like blood trickling down his throat. 

He slipped.

The cold stole the life from him, left him a chattering husk, child's bones and drying years. He cried out for a father that didn't care, a saviour that wasn't coming - even the siblings that wouldn't notice that he was gone. They never noticed. _Never._

The wood of the chair beneath his bare thighs seemed to come and go, smoke then solid. Klaus couldn't keep a hold of it.

When he was real, he caught glimpses - 

Ben’s face, twisted up with regret and rage-

His torturers, impatient, waiting-

The ghosts, watching him-

His breaths came choppy and wet. His skin was slick with sweat, and he shivered so hard that he bit his tongue. 

The waiting was the worst. Like a noose around his throat, ready for the drop. He prayed for Five to come, and then in the next beat prayed the opposite.

At one point, a shadow hovered just outside the door, and his stomach lurched in anticipation. Ben ducked his head through and said, "It's a police officer! Klaus, you need to manifest me, or make some noise, _something."_ So Klaus shouted and screamed behind his gag, despite the threats of his torturers, but the sound never made it out, and before long, the shadow disappeared and hope was lost.

Klaus sagged down, forehead resting on his bound hands. He didn't want to die like this. Not like this.

Then, more footsteps. Hushed voices.

Ben, excited: “Diego.”

Heart thrumming, Klaus screamed his throat raw. Desperating swirled in his chest, crushing his lungs, spilling from his eyes.

And for a moment - cold, creeping up his hands. 

Klaus and Ben shared a look, for once in complete understanding, just for that split second, and Ben shouted out, “In here!”

He heard a shocked yelp from the man in the blue mask, a swear from the woman, and a faint hiss from outside, and then bullets were flying- not at him, but at Ben, who was slipping back out of their plane of existence, fading away. They hit the door instead. 

Toppling from his chair, Klaus thudded to the ground, hip twisting painfully. He wriggled onto his front, and crawled across to the vent, away from the rain of bullets. He heard the door crack open, and then the _thwip_ of a knife being thrown, and the _thump_ of it hitting it’s mark. A shrill noise. In a second of inspiration, or terror, or a combination of the two, Klaus pulled the vent cover off, tricky with his hands still taped together, and started to pull himself through. His head knocked against something stuffed inside - a briefcase, it looked like - and, unwilling to double back, he kept going, shoving it ahead of him.

He tumbled out the other end, jolting his injuries, and peeled the tape from his mouth. A sound of pure, uninhibited relief escaped him. Klaus scrambled upright. Ben must have followed, because he instructed, “Let’s see what they were hiding in the vent,” and Klaus obliged, too exhausted to consider arguing it. It was tricky to balance whilst carrying it, and he must have looked a sight, in nothing but underwear and a torn, bloodied sweater, but he managed his way out, and looked around himself. He had no money, no car. Klaus couldn’t allow himself to be recaptured. He _couldn’t._

Then he saw it. Diego’s car, the same beat up junker that he had bought fresh out of the academy. Klaus ran to it. His legs shook and threatened to drop him with each step, nothing but adrenaline keeping him upright and he managed to open the back door before he collapsed, falling into a heap on the back seat. 

He laughed to himself, half hysterical. How was it that Diego, the most paranoid bastard he knew, left his car unlocked?

He waited there for a minute or two, long enough that he started to wonder whether Diego was coming. What if he was dead? What if the woman came and found him here, dragged him back to that motel room?

The driver’s side door opened, and a black smudge of leather flew into his peripherals. Klaus sighed in relief. He had never expected to feel so grateful to see Diego, of all people.

Wordlessly, Diego span out of the lot, following another car.

“Where are we going?” asked Ben.

Klaus parrotted it.

Diego didn’t react for a beat, before saying gruffly, “We’re going back to Patch’s place. No one should expect us to be there.”

“Oh. Good,” Klaus said, allowing his eyes to flutter closed. He felt beyond weary. Spent, both mentally and physically.

The car journey was too short.

He wasn’t aware that his head was leaning on the window until it abruptly disappeared from under him. His head bobbed forward, rattling his aching brain and strained neck, and he couldn’t help but groan. 

“Out,” commanded Diego.

Wordlessly, Klaus pulled himself to his feet. The world around him rocked nauseatingly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s eaten, and the hangover was setting in, combined with his blood loss.

Diego reached towards him, and Klaus shot backwards, knocking into the car, elbow jarring painfully.

The pair of them stood frozen for a breath. 

“Sorry,” Diego uttered. “I-”

Klaus became unstuck, and used his shoulder to wipe the tears from his face. (He was so tired of _crying.)_ He hugged the briefcase to his chest, still awkwardly, with his wrists held tight.

“Come inside with me,” said Diego.

Ben laughed from behind them, a dry sound.

“Why?” asked Klaus.

Shifting on his feet, Diego said, “You’re injured.”

_“Why do you care?”_

Diego had the gall to look insulted at that. “You’re- Klaus, for fuck’s sake, you’re bleeding. Come inside.”

“Fine,” said Klaus soulessly.

He followed him to the door, which Diego opened himself, with strange familiarity. The woman inside had a badge and gun; presumably the police officer from earlier. She regarded him with a practical gaze for a moment, and then swept up a blanket that was slung over the couch, pulling it around him with gentle hands. “You must be Klaus,” she said.

Klaus opened his mouth, but found himself choking on his words. Instead, he nodded, blinking fast.

“Sit down, and I’ll get you fixed up,” she said.

Grateful, he dropped down onto the couch, tugging the blanket around him so that he was more covered. 

She pulled out a pair of scissors, and Klaus didn’t doubt that she caught the resulting flinch. “My name’s Patch,” she said. “I’m a detective, and a- friend of your brothers. I’m just gonna get that tape off of your wrists, alright?”

Klaus nodded his consent, and she approached with a slow steadiness, the tape splitting easily. He hurried to peel the remnants of the tape away, although his hands shook so hard that he could barely pinch it. 

Diego had moved on to the next room, but he returned fast, a glass of water in hand. “Here,” he said.

Warily, Klaus took it, watchful, and then drained it. The glass was cold in his hand, and his knuckles went white. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m making your couch dirty.”

For the first time, the detective’s brave face faltered. “Don’t you worry about the couch. First of all, let’s check that you don’t need any stitches, hmm?”

“I don’t think I do,” said Klaus. “The cuts aren’t too bad. The burns are worse.”

A beat. “Okay. I’ll just grab the antiseptic, then.”

Patch backed off, and Klaus let out a slow breath, grateful to have less eyes on him. 

“Open the briefcase,” said Ben.

“Can’t it wait?” murmured Klaus.

Ben said, “ _Klaus._ ”

“What was that?” said Diego.

Klaus sighed. “Nothing.” With trembling hands, he fumbled with the latch, too tired to hold any curiosity about what it contained. 

Diego said, “Klaus, earlier- when we found you. I thought, for a second… I thought I heard B-”

And then he was gone.


	6. Make The Most Of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, not all that happy with this chapter, but maybe y'all will like it more than i do

Twenty-one minutes and forty-seven seconds later, a flash of blue light announced the return of Klaus.

If he had been in the condition to notice his surroundings, maybe he would have seen Diego and Patch, jolted out of the bickering match they had been engaged in, stunned to see someone appear out of thin air in Patch’s living room. Ben, lurking in the corner with a pissed off expression.

As it was, Klaus didn’t notice anything except this:

_This was the wrong year._

He sat on the couch, dirt and blood staining him, eyes blank and dazed. Everything was held suspended, the whole room holding its breath, racing to process everything that had just happened. 

Klaus sucked in a breath. He was flayed open, crystallised in his own horror, unable to face the agony of it. His mind was an error message, a flat _no._ No, this does not compute. No, he couldn’t accept this. No, this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. It _couldn’t._

Diego stammered out, “K-Klaus-”

As if the broken silence gave him permission, Klaus slumped forward like his strings were cut, tilting until he spilled off the couch and onto the carpet, curled around the briefcase. He shook. His head was swinging like a pendulum, a slow, steady denial. His forehead touched the carpet and his back arched as if he was trying to burrow deeper. Then, with no warning, his mouth opened, and a noise of pure, animal pain wrenched its way out. 

Patch became unstuck at the noise, and falling back on old training, she approached slowly. “Klaus?” she asked.

Klaus couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her. Couldn’t bring himself to care about who was watching, what they were thinking. He couldn’t think past the hurt, the Dave shaped space inside of him.

Nothing else mattered, could even begin to matter, when Dave was- was-

His mouth was open in a silent scream, his feelings too big and awful to let loose, eyes screwed shut. 

“Klaus.” A hand touched his shoulder, and he leaped back as if burned. 

“Don’t touch me!” he shrieked, wild, afraid, reactionary. 

Sobs clawed out of his throat, burning hot, and he gagged on it. They came faster and faster, tearing through him. He couldn't stop thinking how everything had been fine that morning, how he had stolen a lit cigarette straight from Dave's mouth just to hear him laugh. Klaus would never hear him laugh again, because Dave was dead, and Klaus had just left him there.

His breathing was slipping and choking and he was dizzy, hands like static. 

"Klaus, I need you to breathe for me," said Patch, crouching down opposite him.

"I can't," Klaus croaked out, dropping the briefcase in favour of winding his hands into his hair. 

Patch said, "Yes you can, you already are. You just have to-

_-slow down," said Dave with a patient smile._

_"Sorry," Klaus babbled, "sorry, I-"_

_"You have nothing to apologise for," Dave told him, pulling him closer with careful softness._

_"Yes, I do," said Klaus. "Why are you so nice to me? I keep fucking up, I-_

-fucked up, I fucked up, oh God," Klaus rambled heedlessly. "I'm sorry, no, no, please-"

“Klaus,” said a voice, sharp, and it was enough that Klaus collapsed into himself, waiting for the anger and hurt and everything else associated with that tone of voice, but then it came again, kinder, the way Dave used to speak to him, and that scared him even more. “Klaus, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

If he had the breath, Klaus might have told him that it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t his safety that he cared about, but the safety of a man who was long since dead. 

Another voice, cutting into him like shrapnel. “Klaus, that’s enough. Calm down.”

Klaus blinked up to find Ben watching him, with that impatient, disappointed gaze that he was usually so careful to avoid, and yet nothing in him took notice of it. Even Ben didn’t matter at that moment. 

"I need to go back." Klaus said, woodenly at first, and then stronger. "I need to go back."

He scrambled for the briefcase, only for Diego to clamp a hand over it. "What are you doing?"

He had assumed that opening the briefcase again would take him back to that same camp in '68, but instead it spat him back out here. Maybe if he tried again? "I need it. Give me the briefcase."

"Not if you're going to disappear again," Diego countered.

Klaus shook his head. "You don't get it," he muttered, attempting to claw it from his brother’s hands.

"Just talk to me, bro," said Diego. "What's going on?"

"No, no, just- please, just give it to me, I _need_ to go back, I need to fix this, please-" he said, voice growing frantic.

Diego frowned at him, unwaveringly. "You can have it when you talk to me."

So, Klaus resorted to a dirty technique; something that Reginald would have been proud of. He bit Diego's hand.

Diego swore, reflexively pulling back, and Klaus used this advantage to swipe the briefcase, flicking the latch back open, and-

"No!" Diego shouted, making a last ditch effort, knocking it from Klaus hands. The briefcase clattered and skid across the room, safely away from them, and then, sucking a photo frame from the coffee table, it flashed a blinding blue and disappeared from sight.

Klaus stared at the space when it had been. It was gone. Gone.

"Klaus," Diego said, voice careful, quiet.

Gone, like Dave.

He held still, except for the faint tremor running along the tense lines of his muscles. His bloodied hands were curled tight.

Diego shifted. "Klaus."

Then, like a flipped switch, Klaus turned brutal, feral. Teeth bared, he launched himself at his brother. There was no technique, no planning, just grief-filled rage. Diego was quick to drop into a defensive stance, spinning Klaus and tackling him downwards in a practiced motion. He had him pinned, but Klaus struggled anyway, beyond reasoning. His eyes glinted with burning fury. “Fuck you! I could have saved him! I could have- You killed him. _You killed him-”_

“Klaus, man, breathe-” Diego was saying, but Klaus could barely hear him over the ringing of his ears.

Klaus dropped, all the fight leaving him, melting down like an ice-cream under summer sun. He went boneless, and after a few breaths, Diego seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to keep attacking, because he loosened the hold on his wrist, slowly moving away as if a sudden movement might set Klaus off again - and maybe it would. Klaus didn’t feel like he had any control over it. He had been scooped out of his own body, piloted only by his aching loss and building hate, and any sense of logic had escaped him. He lay there on the carpet, probably ruining it. Did blood come out of carpet? What about sweat, and dirt, and smoke?

A hand tentatively touched his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, man,” Diego said.

He would have laughed, if he could find the energy. Instead, Klaus whispered, “No, it won’t.” His eyes were glassy and emotionless, face slack. 

Patch hedged closer. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Time went wonky, folded underneath his feet like soft sand. Klaus allowed himself to be pulled upright by the pair of them, and shepherded towards the bathroom. Patch placed a clean, fluffy towel on the side for him. He couldn’t stop staring at it. The whiteness of it, unmarred, unnatural. Someone else turned the shower on, and he reflexively started to undress himself at the sound of it, mechanically stepping under the water. It beat down on him like the Vietnam sun. The water ran a dingy pink, and he numbly watched the last of Dave run down the drain. The sound of it was deafening, an echo of helicopter wings in his head, and he wanted to flinch but couldn’t find the energy to move.

By the time he exited the shower, it was running cold.

Lingering outside was Patch. She looked grim, but smiled at him thinly. “You can borrow some clothes,” she said, “I don’t have any mens stuff, but Di said you’d be okay with that.”

 _Di,_ thought Klaus. A whole part of his brother’s life that he hadn’t been aware of.

“Thanks,” he said belatedly.

She eyed him, and added, “I don’t think my trousers will stay up on you, but I should have…” She trailed off as she began digging through her wardrobe. “Aha,” she said, holding out a deep red skirt.

Klaus remembered _this is what you get for wearing a skirt,_ and his breath caught in his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn down her offer, so he took the skirt and a soft t-shirt from her without complaint. 

“What should I do with the clothes in the bathroom?” she asked.

Klaus shrugged, but then froze halfway through. “The jacket,” he said. “I need the jacket. And uh, the boots too, I guess. The rest you can toss.”

She gave him an easy smile. It was strange. Shouldn’t she be arresting him? He had just assaulted Diego in front of her, and she was a police officer. Nothing made sense.

Patch returned with the jacket. “Do you want me to wash it?”

He looked at it. It seemed to have escaped the worst of the blood, but dirt lined it’s creases. He wondered if under all that, it might still hold the scent of Dave’s skin, or if that too was gone forever.

He regretted, in a vague sort of way, that he had stopped screaming, earlier. He wanted to scream now, but didn’t know how to go about it.

When he took a while to answer, she added, “It’s no trouble.”

“Okay,” he said. Her kind gaze fit uncomfortably on his skin. Then, “Wait.” He ambled over, fumbling to pull out the division insignia that Dave had carried in his pocket, since he had torn his jacket sleeves off and that was where it had been sewed on. Klaus tucked it into his own pocket, right over his heart, next to where his dog tags jangled. 

He followed her back out to the living room. Diego stood awkwardly, eyes worried, a thin pink scratch following his cheekbone that Klaus didn’t remember giving him.

“Di, why don’t you make some tea?” Patch suggested. “Klaus, would you like something to eat?”

Klaus shook his head. He felt so shaky and strange that eating sounded impossible. He sat heavily on the couch, scraping his palms over his cheeks. It felt strange to be so clean. The sounds of their voices filtered through the doorway, and it could almost pass for the chatter of his squad, weary after a long day. 

He drifted.

Dave’s face floated across his mind, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His strong hands and the freckles on his collarbone. The line of his shoulders, broad enough that Klaus could rest his head on them, a perfect fit. The expanse of his chest, and the way it shuddered with pain as he gasped his last breaths.

Klaus jerked awake to the flash of napalm.

"I got your message," said Five, no nonsense as always. "Where is it?"

"Where's what? Diego said from the corner of the room, brooding in a squishy armchair.

Five grit his teeth, impatient. "The _briefcase."_

"Gone," croaked Klaus.

Turning his eyes on Klaus, Five asked, "What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone. Poof," Klaus said weakly, a little gesture of the hands that seemed to take all of his energy.

Five went still and hard. "You imbeciles," he growled. Klaus felt his heart stutter sluggishly in response. "Don't you understand- I could have gone back! I could have fixed this!"

"I'm sorry," Klaus blurted, a reflex that Dave had always discouraged. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Five sighed, "Whatever. I'll figure it out."

With that, he disappeared in a flash of light that had Klaus twitching away. He tried to camouflage it by reaching for the mug of tea in front of him.

It had gone cold. 

“You good?”

He looked across to where Diego was perched on the armchair, a knife spinning through his hands, a nervous gesture. “No,” he said honestly, before pushing himself upright. 

Diego said, “I can drive us home.”

Shrugging, Klaus said, “Okay.”

Eudora came in with his jacket folded neatly. “Here,” she said. 

Klaus took it with reverent hands and held it close to his chest for a long moment, a strange embrace, before pulling his arms through. The weight of it on his shoulders was familiar. “Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself, Klaus,” she told him seriously.

A year ago, a car journey alone with Diego would have been the last thing he had wanted to do. Now, he just didn’t care. Klaus stared blankly out at the grey landscape. It ran past him, hazy like a Turner painting, smearing. 

The car stopped.

“What- Why are we here?” Klaus asked.

Diego didn’t look at him, just squinting up at Griddy’s. “You didn’t eat anything.”

“So- what?” Klaus snapped, anger bubbling back up, sudden and unexpected like a lightning strike. “We’re gonna go and eat donuts and hang out like the last seventeen years never happened?”

“Look… I don’t know shit about you. About what happened back there, but also about what happened the last decade,” began Diego.

“No, you don’t,” agreed Klaus pettily. 

Diego huffed. “I’m trying here, man.”

“It’s too late,” said Klaus.

“Why? What, because, because of some argument we had as teenagers?”

“Because you _didn’t believe me._ I really needed you to believe me, and you just-” Klaus cut himself off, chest heaving. He flushed red.

Ben, who had been unusually silent up until now, leaned in. "Good for you, Klaus. He deserves to know what a shit brother he’s been." Something small and shameful in his stomach unclenched at Ben's voice, the confirmation that he could still fall back on him. 

The silence stretched for a long, uncertain moment. Then, “I'm sorry," said Diego.

Klaus froze. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Diego repeated, looking at everything but Klaus. "I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have," Klaus said, but it lacked his earlier bite. The honest apology had deflated him. 

"And whatever happened to you," Diego said quietly. "I'm sorry about that too."

He swallowed. "I- I lost someone." He felt his eyes go hot and wet, and blinked furiously, rubbing the tears away with the heel of his palm.

Diego frowned. "Do you think you'll see them again?"

Klaus looked up at him. "See…"

"Since you're sober, I mean."

Ben made a disapproving noise. "He's testing you."

Klaus, though, was too caught up in the idea. "I could- Do you think I could conjure him?"

Diego shrugged, uncomfortable. "Maybe? It's worth trying, isn't it?"

"Yes," Klaus said feverently. "Anythi-"

 _"Holy shit,"_ Diego hissed suddenly. "It's her."

Diego roughly shoved him down in his seat, but Klaus still leaned up to peek out the window. “Oh, fuck,” he said. His stomach swooped at the memory of _liar,_ and _where’s Five,_ and _pain pain pain._ The woman was standing outside of Griddy’s clenching a bag holding a single donut, a peculiar expression on her face.

“She’s alone,” Diego mused. “Think I might have killed her partner.”

“Oh,” said Klaus, feeling strange at the thought. The man hadn’t been _nice,_ but he’d been the kinder of the two.

Diego started the ignition. “I’m gonna follow her.”

“Shouldn’t we call Patch?” Klaus asked thinly, palms sweating.

“We will, once we find out where she’s staying.”

Klaus shook his head. “I don’t wanna-”

“Quit being such a wimp,” Ben said. “Don’t you want to get her put away?”

He bit his lip. “Fine, but be sneaky about it, okay?”

Diego rolled his eyes. “I know how to be stealth, Klaus.”

“If she spots us, we will literally be bringing a knife to a gunfight,” Klaus deadpanned.

“She’s not going to spot us,” Diego said cockily. It was almost nostalgic.

Klaus wrapped his arms around himself. He was barely containing a fiery, untamed explosion, and the pressure was crushing his ribs. The spillover was inevitable, just a matter of time. For now, all he could do was push it down, and hope that no one else was in the vicinity when he finally blew. His knee bobbed up and down anxiously. His borrowed skirt brushed his skin, and the sensation brought back memories that he was trying to forget, so he squeezed his eyes shut until he could imagine that he was wearing his army fatigues.

Diego kept a slow, steady pace, sometimes speeding up just long enough to catch sight of the car, but quickly falling back to trail from farther behind. Soon, they ended up on one long, straight road that went on for miles, and Diego allowed some distance between them, since there weren’t any turn offs for a while.

The silence was oppressive and heavy. The engine did little to mitigate it, and Klaus felt like his own breathing was too loud in the space.

“So,” Diego said, eyes on the road. “Where did you go?”

“What?” breathed Klaus, taken by surprise.

“The briefcase,” Diego said slowly. “You came back in- army gear?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Klaus said lamely.

Diego chewed the inside of his cheek for a long minute. “So- what, you spent twenty minutes in Iraq or something?”

Klaus laughed, and the sound was wrong, too airy and light. “Something like that.”

“You? In a war?” said Ben.

Shoulders slumping inward, Klaus said, “I know. Crazy.” He let out a slow breath.

“I’m glad you came back,” Diego said suddenly.

Pale, Klaus shifted, hands curling into fists. “I wasn’t going to.”

Diego frowned at him. “Then why did you?”

“I guess-” Klaus stopped, swallowing. “I guess I didn’t have anything left to stay for.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then on the horizon, they saw her. Her car was parked haphazardly, opposite another car, two familiar figures standing by it. A standoff.

“Is that-?” 

“Holy shit,” breathed Klaus.

He could see now, the gun in her hand, the steel expression on her face. His brothers stood together, a briefcase in Luther’s grasp, similar to the one that Klaus had spent ten months lugging across Vietnam. Tension bled from them, their straight lines and tight shoulders.

“Floor it,” said Ben.

“What?” Klaus asked.

“Hit her!”

Klaus cursed. 

Diego hesitated. “Should I-?”

“Fuck it,” Klaus said decisively. “Just ram into her.”

The engine revved higher. “Better hang onto something,” Diego advised.

"Holy shit!" Ben cried out gleefully, for a moment sounding so alive that Klaus could have cried.

The car gained momentum. The scenery was whipping past, fast enough that Klaus barely caught a glimpse of his brothers turning to look at the incoming car, expressions stunned. 

She saw them, began to raise her gun, and then-

_Bang._

They hit her.

It was over so fast that Klaus felt like he imagined it. She flew over the car, tossed like a ragdoll, rolling across the tarmac whilst Diego screeched the car to a stop.

Klaus turned to where Luther and Five had been standing, but now only Luther was left, which- Ben must have been right about Five after all, to leave them mid combat.

Diego began a hasty three point turn. "Luther! We gotta move!"

The woman was beginning to stand now, shakily, listing heavily to the side. She searched for the gun which seemed to have gone flying upon impact.

Luther looked at all this, and then tossed the briefcase carelessly. He jogged around to the abandoned car, struggling to squash himself in the driver's seat, huge limbs tucked awkwardly.

Klaus watched as the woman grabbed up her gun. "Go, go!" 

Diego began to speed away, Luther following close behind. She pulled the trigger, and Klaus ducked down in the seat, pushing Diego's head lower.

The gun didn't go off.

"Ha!" Klaus couldn't believe their luck, despite knowing more than most how often guns jammed and fucked you over at the worst moment.

“You did it,” Ben said. “You really did it, holy crap. Honestly, I didn’t think you had the balls, but you did it! I mean- mostly Diego did it, but still.”

Klaus smiled bitterly. Maybe in another life, he would have been just as thrilled, satisfied in his revenge. Maybe he would have found closure in the act, or felt powerful in his decision.

Instead:

Dave Katz was dead.

This was all there was. 


	7. My Own Design, My Own Remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no new warnings, just some vague depression/drug usage i guess

Klaus doesn’t sleep well that night.

When they had gotten home, sans Five, Luther had briefly explained the ruse with the fake briefcase, but that he had no idea where Five had gone. Klaus tried not to worry about that too much; Five had a habit of disappearing, but he could look after himself just fine.

Diego had called Patch with the license plate and car model that his kidnapper had been driving, and he seemed confident that Patch would find her, despite it all. Klaus privately wasn’t so sure.

He trudged up the stairs, exhaustion weighing down his bones. He circled the second story towards the bedrooms, and by chance glanced across to where Grace sat - still, so still. Biting his lip, he stopped, unsure. There was no blue light that usually signified that she was charging, but she was frozen in place, unmoving. “Mom?” he called out.

Stepping closer, he saw her wrist, wires spilling out, their rubber casing stripped away to show their torn metal. His throat hurt, and he swallowed thickly. They must have- when they shot up the house, kidnapped Klaus, they must have-

“That’s a knife’s wound,” Ben noted. “How would they know to do that?”

“What?” croaked Klaus.

Ben narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to inspect the cut. “Whoever did this… they knew what they were doing.”

“You don’t mean- One of us did this?”

“Well, I think it’s the only explanation that makes sense,” Ben said with a shrug.

Klaus said, “There was a discussion about- about _turning her off._ When you were…” He didn’t say _gone._ Didn’t want to remind Ben of all that.

“There we go, then,” Ben said decisively. “‘My bet is on Diego, considering a knife was used.”

“No way,” said Klaus, shaking his head. “Diego? Hurt mom? No way.”

“Don’t be naive,” Ben said. “Why were they gonna turn her off, anyway?”

“She was acting… strange. Apparently her hardware was degrading,” Klaus explained. He reached out with a shaking hand to touch the golden curl of her hair, but withdrew before he got there. 

Ben hummed. “A mercy kill, then?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” said Klaus. He didn’t want to believe that Diego would do that, but at the same time, the thought was taking root in his brain. “I’m going to bed,” he eventually said.

“Fine,” Ben said. “See ya.” 

“Night,” Klaus said softly, tearing his eyes away from their mother. It seemed wrong, leaving her there. Still, Klaus had gotten good at leaving behind the dead, even people that he cared about.

In his room, he shedded the skirt, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. He swapped out for a vest that showed off some of his tats, and a pair of boxers, unwilling to wear his academy pyjamas, despite the chill in the air.

Klaus could barely believe that he had been home for only a day. Last night, he had slept with Dave just an arms length away, listened to his light snores, and woken up with blue eyes watching him fondly. Now, he got into a cold, empty bed, alone. Even Ben didn’t stick around. Klaus wondered if he was still angry with him, for breaking his sobriety, for not listening to him. He told himself that it didn’t matter, but it did. It did.

The ghosts seemed louder than ever, but Klaus thought that most of it was in his head. It was noisy in there, thoughts overlapping and twisting and tumbling and getting spat out all wrong. He spent most of the night desperately wishing for sleep. His muscles were tense and shivering like he had a fever. Maybe he did. He felt sick, wrong, strange. 

When he did sleep, he glimpsed into his past. Into something better.

_“Come on,” said Lewison, pulling Klaus into a loose headlock, all fond fraternity, reminding him of Diego, before things went bad. “I owe you a drink. Pretty sure I’d be a dead sonofabitch if you hadn’t pulled me out.”_

_With a shaky laugh, Klaus said, “Beginners luck.”_

_“Naw,” Dave dismissed him cheerily. “That was heroic as fuck.”_

_Klaus couldn’t dispute further without divulging his little ghost problem, so instead he said, “I don’t really drink.”_

_Lewison blinked. “Never?”_

_“Not really,” Klaus said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry.”_

_“It’s cool,” Dave said quickly. “Besides, the beer here tastes like watered down piss.”_

_“As long as it’s cheap and alcoholic, I don’t give a fuck,” Lewison said. “Alright, not a drink, but I owe you. Hey, how about a squad tattoo?”_

_“Oh, uh… I mean, I’ve never gotten a tattoo before,” Klaus said, following them over to the bar, careful not to look at the temptations it held._

_Dave laughed. “What do you mean? You’ve got one on your wrist.”_

_Swallowing, Klaus said, “Oh, yeah.”_

_Lewison waved down the bartender. “You sure about that drink?”_

_“Just water for me, thanks,” said Klaus._

_“And me,” Dave added._

_Klaus whirled to look at him, wide eyed. “What?”_

_Shrugging, Dave said, “Sucks being the only sober one. And the beer really does taste like piss.”_

_“Can’t believe I’m stuck with these squares,” Lewison said with a wink._

And then he was awake and alone and so, so empty. Klaus held his breath and kept perfectly still, as if the pain and loss might miss him in the darkness, but his heart was beating too loud, an unsteady rhythm, and he couldn’t avoid it, throat burning and eyes stinging. He pressed his face against his pillow to hide the tears. 

Klaus fumbled to turn on his fairy lights - an old indulgence, a pathetic attempt to ward off the ghosts. He closed his eyes so that he could pretend he didn’t need them.

Explosions and gunfire echoed in the room, the sound familiar like a nursery rhyme, bouncing inside his skull. He drifted. 

_“Are you always this quiet?” Dave asked, mouth twisted into a smile. Klaus thought that maybe he should be worried, or embarrassed, because maybe Dave was making fun of him, but somehow he didn’t mind when it was Dave._

_Klaus confessed, “I didn’t used to be.”_

_Dave’s smile dropped, and Klaus hated that he’d caused it to go. “Why’s that then?” Dave questioned, voice soft._

_“Maybe I don’t have anything worth saying,” he said, aiming for jovial but missing by a mile._

_“I don’t believe that,” Dave said seriously, too serious, like a stab to the gut._

_“You don’t know me that well.”_

_“I’d like to, though,” Dave replied._

_Klaus turned away, all knotted up. “Sure.”_

_Dave shuffled closer, just a few inches, until he could jostle his shoulder against his, ever so slightly._

_“Whoever told you that,” Dave said slowly, studying each word before they escaped his mouth, “they were wrong.”_

_He smiled, mouth twisting cruelly. “Just wait a few days. You’ll change your mind.”_

_“Is that so?” Dave humoured him._

_A shrug, too stiff to be casual. “I have a talent for disappointing people.”_

_“Maybe they have unrealistic standards,” Dave joked, offering Klaus a cigarette._

_He took it, if only to feel their fingers brush in the exchange._

Klaus woke again, feeling a dizzy sense of vertigo at the sudden loss.

Morning had crept up on him, bleeding through the curtains, and he squinted against it as he pulled himself upright. His head throbbed. He realised, belatedly, that he had forgotten to eat. Everything had happened so fast, and all the smaller things had fallen by the wayside. 

He clumsily dressed. Klaus pulled on a tie dye t-shirt which turned out to be a crop top - a little bold for him, but he didn’t bother changing it - and a pair of jeans which he could barely fit into. He had packed on a few pounds of muscle over the last ten months.

He trudged downstairs barefoot, and poured himself a bowl of cereal, trying not to think of Grace and her smiley face pancakes. 

Halfway through, Ben appeared at the doorway. “Family meeting in a minute, better get your ass upstairs before Luther has to look for you.”

Klaus sighed, and put his bowl down in the sink. “Alright.”

In the living room, Diego, Allison and Luther were already gathered, Allison passing out cups of coffee.

"Klaus! Here, this one's for you," she said, passing a cup into his hands.

"Oh." He blinked in surprise, looking down at where his gift warmed his cold fingers. "Thank you."

She smiled warmly. "Of course. You look nice, by the way."

His free hand ghosted over the edge of his shirt, where it bared a slither of his waist. "Thanks. I- It's old."

"You can still pull it off," she told him, and he couldn’t read her tone, but he didn't think she was joking.

He flushed a dull red. "Tha-"

"Alright, enough small talk," Luther said, voice booming over Klaus. 

Klaus shrank back, retreating to the couch, where he crossed his legs underneath himself. Ben didn't like feet on furniture, but he figured that it might not count when it was dad's stuff anyway. He took a sip of coffee. It was a little cool, and she had forgotten that he preferred it sweet, but the gesture was kind all the same.

“The world’s ending in three days.”

Suddenly, the coffee was not on his mind.

“ _Three days?”_ Allison echoed.

Luther shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s what Five said.”

“Oh,” Klaus said softly.

Eyes whirled towards him.

“What?” asked Luther.

Klaus swallowed. “He did say something about the end of times. I didn’t realise-”

“Yeah, he wasn’t joking,” Luther said.

“But can we trust him? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Five’s a little...”

“Totally insane,” Ben interjected from behind the couch. Klaus snorted.

“He was pretty convincing,” Luther said heavily. “Besides, if he wasn’t trying to stop an apocalypse, those two lunatics wouldn’t be chasing him.”

Trying not to remember those _two lunatics,_ Klaus turned away, hands shaking around his coffee cup. He could feel Diego’s eyes on him as he muttered, “That’s why those two assholes were after him.”

“What did Five even see?” asked Allison.

“Uh… Apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible.” Luther looked down at his coffee, and clicked his tongue. Then, he loudly continued, “Okay, so the plan is, we go through dad’s research-”

He was quickly drowned out by Allison and Diego, demanding an explanation.

“Suspicious,” Ben muttered.

“What actually happened the first time around?” Klaus questioned.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

Luther muttered something unintelligible, taking a sip of his coffee, not meeting anyones eyes.

Allison cocked her head. “What was that?” 

“Um- We died?” Luther said.

“What?”

“What do you mean-”

Klaus had gone cold, and suddenly all he could see was Dave, Dave, Dave, bleeding out under his hands, gasping out, too quiet to hear under the world-shaking boom of explosives, and Klaus screaming, screaming-

“Hey.”

He blinked at this new voice, soft, hesitant. 

Vanya stood, tiny as ever, eyes hot and challenging. Behind her, a man stood, unassuming, uninteresting, except for the shadow that followed him - not strong enough to break through Klaus’ tenuous hold, but angry enough that he could feel it press against him. He shivered.

“What’s going on?” 

Silence. Allison and Luther shared a hesitant look. Licking her lips, Allison said, “It’s a- family matter.”

“Family matter.” Vanya smiled bitterly. “So of course you couldn’t be bothered to include me.”

“No, it’s not like that-”

Vanya shook her head, turning away. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Wait, Vanya,” Allison said, hurrying to follow. “I’ll fill you in later, when we’re alone-”

“No, please, don’t bother,” Vanya said, stopping at the doorway and eyeing them coldly. Her family. “And I won’t either.”

Allison flinched back. “Vanya, that’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Vanya said, incredulous. “I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad's fault, but he's dead. So it turns out you're the assholes.”

“We’re the assholes?” Ben hissed. “Rich from the girl who wrote a whole _book_ on all our secrets.”

Klaus clenched his fists. 

The door rattled as it was slammed shut.

Klaus tried to focus back on the rest of the meeting, but he could barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. He felt like his family was self-destructing, collapsing in on itself, and Klaus wanted _out._ He wanted to feel safe, and valued, and loved, and he had never felt any of that until he had met Dave.

A sharp _zap_ of blue.

He jerked back, hands up to cover his head before he could identify the body groaning atop the bar. “Christ on a cracker,” he breathed.

Five slipped from the bar, curled over, and snatched Allison’s coffee from her hand.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asked.

Five slurped the coffee. “Irrelevant,” he said, tossing the empty cup over his shoulder.

“Um-” Klaus hedged, because _no,_ it wasn’t, actually, but Five was already talking.

“So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us.”

“The Umbrella Academy.”

“Yes, but with me, obviously,” Five said imperiously. “So if y'all don't get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we're screwed. Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us?”

Klaus shook his head absently, despite the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. It’s not that he didn’t care about the rest of the world, but death… it didn’t sound all that terrible to him. (Maybe he could follow Dave.) Besides, he was tired. Tired of fighting.

“And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I've come back with a lead. I know who's responsible for the apocalypse. This is who we have to stop. “

Allison took the slip of paper from his hands. “Harold Jenkins?”

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?”

Five gave Diego an impatient look, before glancing over to Klaus, who shot him what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Finally, he said, “That’s what we need to find out.”

“Screw it, I’m in,” Diego declared. “These bastards already hurt my brother. I’m not about to let anyone else get hurt.”

Klaus felt his ears burn, but something in his chest loosened.

“I’m _fine,”_ Five said.

Rolling his eyes, Diego replied, “I wasn’t talking about you.”

Five narrowed his eyes, mouth open, but Luther cut him off. “Yeah, you go. I'm gonna stay and go through Dad's files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon.”

Allison frowned. “Are you sure? I think we need to help Five.”

Luther said, " _Watch for threats._ That's what he told me.”

“Whatever, we don’t have time for this.”

Diego shifted. “Let's roll. I know where we can find this asshole. Klaus, you're with me.”

“I- no.”

“What?” said Diego.

Klaus felt his heart stammer at the look of disappointment, but he doubled down. “I’ve got someone that I- have to find. Y’know?”

Diego’s mouth formed a tiny _oh._

“Really? Right now?” Ben said suddenly. “Bro. Are you really going to let the world burn over some _personal issues?”_

Clutching his dog tags, Klaus said, “Sorry.”

With an awkward smile, Diego said, “Good luck.”

And then he was watching his siblings march out.

Full disclaimer: Klaus had never done this before.

_This_ being summoning a ghost. 

That’s not to say that he hadn’t pretended to try. First for his father, and then later, for various people on the streets who recognised him and begged him to find some dead relative of theirs. He was familiar with the act of sitting crossed legged with a candle in front of him, staring into the flame like it might hold the answers, the flicker of light making the shadows dance and threaten. Truthfully, he had never tried all that hard; enough ghosts were around as it was, without adding to their numbers.

He had, in a way, attempted it in the few occasions that Ben had abandoned him. Those attempts had always been a useless, frantic grab for his brother, too out of his mind with panic to even be able to connect with his powers.

It was safe to say that he had progressed a lot since his childhood. No longer did he dread the mottled, decaying faces that haunted his teen years. He had a handle on it, one foot wedged under the door that closed the afterlife off from him. It had been born of necessity, after Ben had convinced him into sobriety, and he had needed to find a way to mute the voices without resorting to deafening himself.

All of that didn’t change the fact that he had _never done this before._

He had uncovered some old, dusty candles that Reginald had given him to encourage extracurricular training, and lit one of them in the middle of his room, the curtains shut. He wriggled in place, trying to get comfortable.

“This is a waste of time.”

Klaus huffed, but didn’t respond to Ben’s pessimism. This had to work. This had to work.

Please, God, let it work.

He felt himself slow down, watching the flicker of the flame. His breathing quietens, gentle, heart a steady rhythm in his ears, the difference between them. His shoulders slumped. He reached out with cold, unsteady hands, searching through the cobwebs and mist.

He lost himself.

It was endless. The spindles spread for miles, curving through space and time and layers of reality, connections and branches, on and on. He crawled through it, and got nowhere. Endless. 

Except.

Except for the wall.

Shapeless, sightless, no way under or over. Just that. A barrier. He pressed his hands against it. It was cold. It pressed back.

Klaus came back to himself with a gasp.

His cheek stung. Dazed, he reached up to touch it, the warm skin of it. “What?”

Ben stepped back, tall from his seat on the floor. “Thought you weren’t coming back.”

“Oh.” He stretched his jaw out. He recognised it now; the echoing pain of a slap. He felt his ears burn at the humiliation. “I’m here.”

“What if you got stuck, huh? What if I couldn’t bring you back?” Ben folded his arms, jaw tight.

“Sorry,” Klaus bit out. “I had to.”

“Had to,” snorted Ben. “Whatever. Are you done? The others came back.”

“They did?” Klaus said. It must have been a few hours. He heaved himself upright, swaying as his head went fuzzy. 

He fumbled his way out into the hall. He had been sitting too long, probably, or hadn’t eaten enough. 

He could hear a voice, low but carrying through the only hallways. Half a conversation.

He found Diego on the phone. 

"-no, don't worry, we're handling it. Allison's gone to look for her, I'm going to follow her out in a minute." A beat. "Yeah. Thank you. Seriously." 

The floorboard creaked under Klaus.

Diego twisted. "Oh, he's here. I'll go tell him. Yeah, you too." A smile flitted across his face as he was hanging up.

"What's going on?" Klaus asked.

"That was Patch," said Diego, looking at him with a complicated expression. "They caught her. The woman who…"

Who took him. Who tortured him. Who burned, cut, scolded him. Who _scared_ him.

Knees giving out, Klaus sunk to the floor.

"Woah," said Diego, crouching down and softening his fall. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Klaus choked out. "Yeah, I just…"

"It's a lot," said Diego. "Just take a breath, man."

Klaus nodded, air whistling between gritted teeth. He could sense, more than see, Ben wandering off, no doubt bored by his theatrics.

"That's it, you're okay." Diego smiled at him, the expression fitting strangely on his face. 

Tilting back so that he could lean against the wall, Klaus said, "I thought it would feel- different. Like, cathartic, you know? And now it's just- she's caught. That's it. It's kind of… I don't know, anticlimactic?"

Diego snorted. "We can make it more dramatic, if you like. I can go hunt her down for revenge, beat the shit out of her."

"I think I'll pass, thanks," Klaus said, laughing tiredly.

Shifting so that he could sit besides Klaus proper, Diego said, "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Will do," Klaus said, running a hand through his hair. It had grown out a little over his time in Vietnam, but maybe he would let it grow out fully. If the world survived that long. "Any luck finding Harold?"

"Kind of. He's Vanya's boyfriend."

"What?" Klaus blinked, heart skittering. 

Diego grimaced. "Allison is trying to find them, but they aren't home."

Klaus breathed, "Shit. What about Five?"

"In his bed," Diego said. "He had a shrapnel wound that he didn't bother mentioning."

He winced. Shrapnel wounds were a particularly painful injury, usually jagged and dirty, prone to infection; he knew from experience. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, mom's taking care of him."

Swallowing painfully, Klaus said, voice small and childlike, "Mom?"

"M- shit, yeah man, I'm sorry, I should have said- Mom's back. I guess Pogo fixed her." Diego's eyes were pinched and cautious. It made something in Klaus go still and scared. 

"That's… good. Di-"

"What?" Diego asked sharply.

Klaus licked his lips, mouth dry. "I- I know that you'd never hurt mom, but-"

"Are you accusing me of something?" Diego demanded, rolling up to his feet, shoulders squared.

"No! No, I just-” Klaus cut himself off, pushing himself to his feet. “Diego, listen. _I know you wouldn’t want to hurt her._ I’m just saying that if- if, for some reason, you had to do it…”

Diego sucked on his lower lip, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “She w-w-w-” he stopped, flexing his jaw. Klaus pretended not to notice the resurgence of his childhood stammer. “She w-was hurting herself. She didn’t even notice that she was doing it.”

“Shit,” whispered Klaus, throat hot and tight. 

“I had to. I had to,” Diego said, mostly to himself.

“I’m sorry. That must have- I’m so sorry.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Yeah. And- She’s back now. So.”

Klaus shook his head, laughing, the sound hollow. “God. This family.”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “I think we take family secrets to a whole new level.”

He hummed, leaning back against the wall.

“In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Ask away,” said Klaus, despite the fact that a jolt of nervousness raced up his spine at his brother’s intense gaze.

Diego shuffled his feet, suddenly reticent. “Remember the motel? When me and Patch found you?”

“Yep,” Klaus said, because despite ten months passing, he wasn’t about to forget that in a hurry.

“I thought I heard Ben,” Diego says, all at once, like he had been holding the words in for a while. 

Fidgeting, Klaus said, “That’s not a question.”

He huffed. “Was it? Was it Ben?”

Klaus fought the urge to check that they were alone, despite knowing in his gut that Ben wasn’t close, the tether between them stretched thin. Still, the words felt taboo. It was against the rules. But then, it was his secret too, wasn’t it? He released a slow breath, and said, “Yeah. That was him.”

“Oh.” Diego sagged slightly, tension dropping from his posture. “He’s- He’s here? You see him?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s not here right now, but yeah. I see him.”

“That’s good. Right? I mean- I’m glad you weren’t alone. When you left,” Diego said, words unsure and choppy.

“Yeah. Yes,” Klaus said weakly.

“Uh. I mean, is it? A good thing?” Diego said. “I just- I don’t know, dude. You’ve changed a lot, and I’m glad that you’re sober, but you don’t seem… happy.”

He felt like his throat was closing over. “Are any of us?” he joked, his voice pulling up strangely.

Diego laughed half heartedly. “I guess not. I don’t know, man, I just wanted you to know that you could tell me. If there was anything bad going on.”

Klaus didn’t know what to do with that. Was there something bad going on? Dave had certainly thought so, an opinion scraped together with the scraps of information that Klaus couldn’t quite edge around. Sometimes Klaus would say something, and suddenly Dave would want to know, ‘Where’d you get that idea?’ and usually, it was from Ben, wasn’t it? Did that constitute _something bad?_ Could he say that about his brother, his dead brother, the person who had got him clean, helped him make a life for himself? “I-” he said, word shaking, “Diego, I-”

_Bang._

The front door slammed shut loud enough to make the windows rattle. Klaus startled half a foot into the air.

“Is that-”

A feminine giggle echoed up the stairs.

Klaus and Diego shared a perplexed look, before silently coming to the conclusion that they had to investigate. 

They crept down the stairs, listening to the sounds of footsteps, a thump, a laugh. Quiet words, too quiet to make out. They turned the corner.

“What the hell?” Diego blurted.

Luther was there, shirtless, clearly inebriated, a woman clinging to him, heels too high to balance well. The pair were kissing, although they kept almost toppling over, causing them to laugh hysterically. 

“There’s some dudes watching us,” the woman stage-whispered.

“Wha-” Luther span, almost losing his footing. “Oh. It’s my brothers.”

“What’s going on?” said Klaus faintly. Then, after getting a better look at Luther’s eyes, “Are you _high?”_

“Yeah!” Luther said, grinning, blissed out. His voice was too loud. “I got-” He struggled to fit his fingers into his pocket, eventually pulling out a tiny pill. “This!”

Klaus looked away, stamping down on the urge to grab it from his hand. “Great.”

“And now we’re gonna-” he stopped, lowering his voice, “ _have sex!”_

“Mm, no. Not happening,” Diego said flatly. “Lady, I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Aw,” she pouted. 

“Nooo,” Luther drawled. “Why are you being such a- a _buzzkill?”_

Diego sighed, opening the front door and giving the woman a pointed look. “Now, please.”

“Ugh, such a cockblock,” she groaned, stomping out.

“Luther, let’s sober you up, hmm? How about some water?” Klaus said, stepping over to him.

“No!” Luther bellowed, shoving him. Klaus fell on his ass, skidding slightly, heart thumping a nervous tattoo. 

“Hey!” said Diego, positioning himself between them. “Don’t shove him, asshole.”

Luther blinked, as if seeing Klaus for the first time. “Oh. I shoved you?”

“Um.” Klaus stood quickly, hands up. “I’m okay. See?”

“Oh, okay,” Luther said, smiling slowly. “Hey, do you wanna get high? It’s super fun!”

“Alright, big guy,” said Diego, sparing Klaus from answering. “Kitchen, now.”

Luther rolled his eyes, but began fumbling his way over to the kitchen.

Diego shook his head. “Jesus christ. This family.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said, voice trembling slightly.

“I got this from here,” Diego said, dark eyes kind. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

“You sure?” said Klaus.

“Yeah, man.”

“Alright. Just- give him some water, but not too much, okay?”

“I know how to take care of a high idiot,” Diego said with a touch of irony.

Klaus laughed. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“Night, Klaus,” Diego said, mock punching his shoulder.

“Night, Diego,” said Klaus, resigning himself to another night of restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are greatly appreciated


	8. We Will Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly shorter chapter, but the next one shouldn't be a long wait!

**__** _The walk back to camp was spent mostly in silence._

_Not just Klaus and Dave - or, as it had been recently, KlausandDave, one entity everywhere they go - but the rest of the squad. Everyone was either exhausted or grieving, or a sickening mix of the two. They had lost one of their own that day. It was always hard, losing someone, even if they weren’t all that close, because it was a reminder that death lurked around every corner, throwing your mortality in your face._

_Still, with Dave, he thought it was more than that. Normally, even after a bad day, they stayed close, shoulders knocking as they walked. Now, Dave walked fast, not giving Klaus a second glance._

_Klaus wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. The fighting had been nasty, but very little of it had been spent together; they got seperated during the retreat. Klaus had barely seen Dave that afternoon, so he didn’t know how he had managed to piss him off- but then, he always had a particular talent for finding a way to grate on everyone’s nerves._

_The waiting, wondering, was making his palms sweat. He kept waiting for Dave to snap, to turn on him, but he didn’t, even as they ducked into the tent, even as the rest of the guys hit the mess tent, leaving them in rare, fleeting privacy._

**__** _He couldn’t bear it any longer. The waiting was killing him._

**__** _“You’re mad at me.”_

_“No, I’m not,” disagreed Dave, easing a foot out of his boot to inspect a blister. It had been a long walk back to base._

_Klaus sat down, arms wrapped around himself. Voice small, he said, “Okay,”._

_Dave observed him for a long moment. “Klaus. I’m not mad at you.”_

_“Okay,” repeated Klaus, dejected. He knew this game; sometimes Ben liked to make him stew in it for a while, to make him try and figure out what he’d done._

_“It’s just-”_

_He couldn’t help but flinch at that, because he knew it, he **knew** that he had done something wrong._

_“Hey, no,” said Dave, ducking his head to try and catch his eye. “I promise, I’m not angry at you, I mean it. I was just- scared.”_

_“Scared?” echoed Klaus, brow wrinkled._

_“Reese got hit, and then we were running and I turned around and you weren’t there. I thought-” Dave cut off, twisting his fingers together. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”_

_He took a sharp breath. “Oh.”_

_“I don’t know what I’d do if…” Dave confessed haltingly._

_Klaus made a thoughtful noise. “Mm. That decides it, then.”_

_Perplexed, Dave asked, “Decides what?”_

_A shrug. “I just won’t die, then.”_

_“You just-” A slow smile overtook Dave’s face, and it made Klaus’ toes curl, knowing he had put it there. “You’re something else, Hargreeves.”_

_Grinning, he said, “And don’t you forget it!”_

  


Someone knocked on his door. 

He twitched at the sound. Klaus was already awake, and had been since that dream around 4am that had left him shivering and jittery, pacing the narrow space of his room like a caged animal. Somehow, the soft memories were more disturbing than any kind nightmare he could imagine. They just served to remind him of what he had lost.

“Klaus? You up?” called Diego through the door.

He pulled the door open in answer.

“Good. Come on, we need to find Allison.”

“She didn’t come back last night?” Klaus asked anxiously.

Diego pressed his lips into a thin line. “Think she’s in trouble?”

“Maybe she found Vanya, but... let’s not risk it,” Klaus said breathlessly, following his brother to Luther’s door. 

They paused, but there was no sound from inside. Klaus figured he was probably sleeping off his hangover.

Just before he knocked, Klaus said, “Wait a tick.” A rare, mischievous smile stole across his face, and he darted away, returning seconds later with an old brass bell in hand. He raised his eyebrows in question.

Diego smirked. “Hell, yes,” he said, taking it and, without hesitation, ringing it enthusiastically. The sound was piercing, even without a hangover.

Luther threw his door open, a blanket wrapped around his waist, valiantly preserving his dignity. He squinted at them, face puffy and irritated. “What?”

“Good morning,” Klaus trilled loudly.

A groan. “Really? You’re really playing this game right now?”

“No games. Get dressed, we need to leave,” said Diego.

“Uh… I mean, no, I think I’m good,” Luther mumbled, shuffling back towards his bed.

“No time for that,” said Diego. “Allison might be in danger.”

Luther whirled on him. “What? Why didn’t you start with that?” He shoved past them, hurrying towards the stairs.

“Uh, Lu?” said Klaus. “You might want to, y’know, put some pants on first?”

Luther froze, a strangled noise escaping his throat. “Yep, okay,” he said, hurrying back into his bedroom and slamming the door.

Klaus and Diego exchanged a silent look full of repressed laughter.

Light footsteps padded down the stairs, and Five stepped down, still in his academy pyjamas. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going after Allison,” supplied Klaus.

Five sighed, favouring his left side. “Let me get changed.”

“Changed? Five, you have a _shrapnel wound,”_ Klaus yelped.

“Don’t leave without me,” Five replied airily. 

Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, he really despaired at his family. But then, they’d all been taught to run towards danger from such a young age; could he blame them for still holding onto that idea? 

“What’s going on?”

Klaus startled, smothering his reaction when he realised who it was. Sure, Diego knew that Ben had been hanging around, but he didn’t want Ben to know that Diego knew that Ben was hanging around. He looked between them, checking that Diego wasn’t watching, before mouthing, _Allison._

Ben’s expression went cold. “First you want to ignore them and find some guy instead, now you want to go after Allison?”

He shrugged minutely.

“Fine,” said Ben, leaning back against the wall, seemingly willing to humour him. Klaus let out a breath of relief.

“You good?” 

Klaus snapped around to look at Diego, who stared back, eyes pensive, knowing. “Yeah,” he said softly.

Diego frowned, but was quickly distracted by Luther stomping back out, and then Five coming down the stairs. 

“Let’s go,” said Luther impatiently.

  


Five was driving.

The decision was made by Five, and no one was willing to fight him on it - the little bastard was kind of terrifying - and he had elected Klaus as his passenger. (Klaus felt honoured.) 

Fortunately, that meant that Klaus couldn't see the venomous glances he was convinced Ben was shooting at him. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. Hadn't Ben wanted him to follow the family just yesterday? It seemed that recently, any decision Klaus made was the wrong one, and it was putting him on edge.

The ride was silent and uneasy. A few times, Diego and Luther began to bicker in the back, but threats of bodily harm from Five quickly put that to a stop, so Klaus was free to chew in his nails in relative peace. 

Diego said, “This is it.”

Klaus blinked up. He had zoned out, at some point, thinking of Dave, and reaching out, and the vast wall that had pushed back. 

The house was, in all fairness, kind of cute. Run down, maybe, but it peaked out of the woods, a long porch wrapping around, wind chimes ringing in the breeze. The air was clean and cool as he stepped out of the car. 

“What’s the plan?” Diego said.

Luther began to bluster, “Uh, we- we need to-”

“It looks empty,” Five interrupted. “There’s no car, either. I’m going to check.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? With the whole _shrapnel wound situation?”_ Klaus said, frowning.

“The what?” said Luther. Clearly he had been too preoccupied with getting high to notice their brother almost dying, Klaus thought uncharitably, in a voice that sounded a lot like Ben. He pushed it away.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine,” snapped Five, and he disappeared before anyone had a change to argue.

“Kid’s gonna get himself killed,” Diego grunted.

Klaus grimaced.

Five popped back next to them. “They were here. Left their stuff.” He absentmindedly touched his ribs, where Klaus assumed he had been hit. “Can’t have gone far.”

“We should check the town we passed on the way in,” Luther said.

“What if they come back?” asked Diego.

“We can come back later, if we don’t find anything,” said Five.

Diego rolled his neck, stretching. “Fine.”

Ben shook his head. “You’re wasting your time.”

They got back in the car, a slightly desperate air to them. Klaus didn’t point out the slim chances of running into them in town; they all knew it. Still, it was better than doing nothing, and they had no other leads. For all they knew, time was running out.

The town was tiny, just a little cluster of shops and restaurants. Five parked, and they dispersed, wandering down the streets in search of a clue, or a miracle. The only thing of interest was some police tape up around a bar’s parking lot, but the scene was empty of the living, with only a few ghosts that he felt buzzing underneath the layer of pressure Klaus put on them. Probably a bar fight; Klaus had experienced enough of them in his teens, even started a few himself.

They regrouped in the centre.

“Anything?” Luther questioned.

“Nothing,” said Diego.

“Shit,” Five sighed. “Any ideas?”

Klaus looked to Diego. “You got Patch’s number?” he asked, nodding towards a phonebooth.

Diego huffed. “Screw it, can’t hurt.”

“Patch? What’s that?”

“A detective. She can keep an ear out for Allison,” Diego explained, digging some change out of his pocket.

"Why not have her look for Harold instead?" Luther asked.

"No way," Diego denied. "We don't know what this guy is capable of."

Five interjected, "In my experience, the police are rarely capable of handling our kind of problems."

"She's plenty capable. I'm just not willing to risk her getting killed because of me," said Diego. (Klaus tried futilely not to think of Dave and, _I thought I was gonna lose you._ ) “You guys- go get some coffee, or whatever."

“Want to talk to her in private?” Klaus asked mildly. 

“Shut up,” grumbled Diego.

Five said, “Come on, coffee. I hope you guys have money.”

Luther said, “Guess coffee’s on me.”

Klaus, feeling daring, said, “Maybe food, too? We missed lunch.”

“Whatever. It’s dad’s money, anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting out a little _huh,_ but followed him into the cafe. Klaus wasn’t about to push his luck.

Five muttered about wasting time, but it didn’t stop him from ordering the biggest black coffee they could legally sell (to the poor barista’s alarm). He didn’t order any food, so Klaus took the initiative to order two of what he was having, and then the healthiest thing on offer for when Diego got back. Luther ordered three sandwiches. Five looked like he was about to comment on it, so Klaus elbowed him, shooting him a dissuading glance. Klaus knew what it was like to have someone pick at your food habits.

They sat by the window, as if hoping to see Allison stroll past.

“So,” said Five, taking a sip of too hot coffee, “was that some resentment I heard from you, Luther?”

Luther pulled a face at his food. “Yeah, well… let’s just say, I’ve recently seen dad in a new light.”

Ben whistled, “About time,” and Klaus couldn’t help but agree.

“What happened?” he asked. 

“Turns out he put me on the moon for no reason,” said Luther, tearing a sandwich in half. “Four years of soy paste and processed air, all for nothing.”

Klaus winced. “Shit, man.”

“The moon? _Really?_ The asshole got me killed, and Luther’s complaning about going to the fucking _moon?”_

“Hargreeves was a colossal prick,” Five said, unknowingly speaking over Ben’s vitriol.

“Seconded,” said Diego, dropping into the spare seat. “Any reason in particular?”

Handing over the designated plate, Luther said, “Turns out you were right, at the funeral. He sent me to the moon because he couldn’t stand the sight of me.” He smiled, but it was the awful, hollow kind, jagged at the edges.

Diego had gone stiff, the plate still held mid air. “I- uh- fuck, man.” He put the plate down with a clang, staring at the food like it might hold the answers. “That’s shit. I’m sorry.”

Luther almost choked on his food. He cleared his throat, and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Well, this is great,” drolled Five, “but can we get back to saving the world now?”

“Eat some more of your food,” Klaus told him.

Five gave him a cold look. “I’m not a child.”

Klaus, despite wanting to pull back, doubled down. “And yet you’re not taking care of yourself. _Like a child_.”

Diego burst into peals of surprised laughter, which was quickly cut off by swift kick to the shin. Appraising him for a moment, Five picked up half a sandwich, and said, “I’ll take it to go.”

Copying him, Klaus stood up, chair screeching obnoxiously. “Let’s go, then.”

Luther piled his remaining sandwiches into a neat stack, and put some money in the tip jar on the way out, something that Reginald would no doubt see as a waste of money. Klaus hoped that Luther enjoyed the fact as much as he did.

Five got into the driver's seat again.

"You're not driving one handed," Diego said, disbelieving.

"Try and stop me, and I'll burn you with the cigarette lighter," replied Five, punctuating it with a bite of his sandwich. Diego fell silent, electing to sulk in the backseat. “Where to after this? Is there anywhere else that Vanya might go?”

Klaus figited. “We haven’t really kept in contact.”

Luther said, “Same here.”

“Diego?” Five prompted.

Baring his teeth, Diego said, “We haven’t exactly been on good terms, since she published her book.”

“Are you telling me that none of you know anything about our sister?” Five demanded. 

“Uh, yep, guess so,” said Klaus, resuming biting his nails.

Five grumbled, “This goddamn family,” hands tight around the steering wheel.

By the time they pulled up outside the house yet again, the sky had gone dark, almost unnaturally so. It was quiet.

The door was cracked open.

Luther shot out of the car, the rest of them just behind, Five lagging when running no doubt pulled on his stitches.

When they got through the door, Luther occluded most of the room, so what Klaus first noticed was the disarray, the toppled paperbacks and shattered light bulbs.

Then Luther fell to his knees, an animal sound ripping from his throat.

Blood. Thick, dark, pooling.

Allison's throat, torn, the wound gaping and deep, blood leaking out, slower than it should. Klaus knew what that meant.

Time was frozen. Everything was moving in slow motion, thick as tar, like a dream. Klaus put a shaking hand on Luther's shoulder, trying to pull him back, but he may as well be touching concrete, a brick wall, unmalleable.

It took a while before Klaus could locate his voice, standing there, numb, whilst Allison bled out, time slipping away from them. He had seen death too many times. His mind span with _no, not again, no,_ and it drowned out any thoughts of practicality.

Then, all of a sudden, his experience and muscle memory kicked in. He grabbed a throw fromthe sofa and darted around Luther, balling it up to press it against her throat, as hard as he dared when he risked cutting off her airway. "Luther," he said, "we need to move, come on."

Luther sobbed, still holding Allison, who flopped from his arms like a ragdoll. "No," he cried, "Allison, no-"

"I know, but we have to go now, okay?" Klaus said, gentle but firm, pulling him up. He responded automatically, standing, Allison still in his arms.

"I'll get the car running," Five said urgently, disappearing in a flash of blue. 

Diego said helplessly, holding the door open, "Shit, shit, let's go!"

Finally absorbing the situation, Luther moved, Klaus skipping along at his side, keeping pressure on the wound. They squished into the backseat, an awkward trio, bashing elbows and knees uncaringly. 

Five skidded out onto the road haphazardly. 

Klaus pushed down on the throwbut it was already soaking through, hot and wet and under his hands, staining his skin red up to his wrists. 

Allison's breathing was getting shallow, eyelids fluttering dangerously, and Klaus began to pray to a God that he may or may not believe in:

_Please, not again._


	9. A Room Where The Light Won't Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've changed the timeline a little so that grace doesn't wait half a day to do Allison's stitches, because thats dumb

The infirmary was just as grim as Klaus remembered.

Mom stood in stark contrast to the room, skirt bright and clean, surgical gloves snapped over her hands. “She's suffered a severe laceration to her larynx. One of you will need to give blood," she said, blue eyes sharp and clear as she readied an IV.

_“I will,”_ they all said in unison.

"I'll do it," insisted Luther, already rolling up his sleeve.

Pogo stepped in. "I'm afraid your blood is more compatible with mine," he said sadly.

"Then take mine," Klaus said, a tad frantic, holding out his arm. 

"Master Klaus, your blood is…Too polluted," said Pogo.

"Wha- I'm clean, Pogo," Klaus said hotly. "I haven't had so much as a drink in ten months, and I haven't _shot up_ since I was nineteen."

Pogo was taken back. It kind of made Klaus want to punch him.

"That's good enough for me," said Mom, pulling out a needle.

Diego wobbled on his feet, face pale. 

"Don't watch," Klaus advised him.

Once blood was flowing steadily, and Allison had a nebuliser under her nose to keep her blood oxygen up, Mom began stitching her wound back together. It was artful, the accuracy and care taken with each stitch. It was nothing like the hasty sutures that medics gave in Vietnam. The family watched on in silence, as if terrified that Allison might be lost if they leave her, irrational as it was.

His hands were still sticky with blood. It made his mouth go dry.

Only once the thread had been snipped and a bandage placed carefully over it did Luther dare to ask, "Is she going to be okay?"

Grace simply said, "She will live."

Klaus let out a shaky breath, for the first time hoping that his family might survive this. The tension in the room sank. Pogo, with a grim nod, limped out of the room.

Five said, “I need to go- run some equations.” From the way his hands shook and his lips were waxy pale, Klaus suspected it was an excuse to leave the room, but he wasn’t about to call him out on it. Not when Klaus himself felt on the edge of a breakdown, a cliff's edge. 

"Diego, dear, why don't you collect a basin of water for Klaus to wash his hands,” Mom suggested, snapping her gloves off. “He needs to sit here for a while longer.”

“Sure,” said Diego easily, a little too eager, carefully not looking at the bloodstains as he edged out of the room.

Luther said, “What can I do?” 

Grace gave him a warm smile. “How about you fetch her something clean to wear," she added. "This shirt is ruined."

"Yeah, okay, I can do that," he said. He looked down at Allison’s hand, small where it was trapped in his. “You’re sure she’s going to be okay?”

She ran a gentle hand over his head. “Of course, my darling. I promise.”

After a long moment of hesitation, Luther stood, lumbering out of the room. 

Grace watched him go before turning and beginning to tidy away. She pulled on a clean pair of gloves, and began to sterilize the suture kit, humming a pretty tune under her breath as she discarded the evidence of how close they had come to losing a sister.

“There we go,” she said, tossing the soiled throw into the bin. “All clean.”

“Mom,” said Klaus.

“Yes, bumblebee?” she trilled.

He swallowed. “You have some blood. There. On your skirt.”

Her smile faltered for a second, freezing blank, before resuming. “Oh, dear. Well, I’d best get changed!” She stepped towards the exit, before pausing again. “Will you be okay? On your own?” she asked, unsure, lacking her usual confidence. It was awfully human.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “I’m so proud of you.” Then, with that, she stepped out of the room.

Klaus blinked away the sudden stinging of his eyes, the tightness of his throat. He didn’t have time for it.

Besides: Ben was hovering.

“What?” Klaus asked.

Ben unconvincingly said, “Nothing.”

Klaus turned his head, careful not to disrupt the needle in his arm. “No, really,” Klaus said. “Just say it.”

His tone was wrong, and he knew it.

His wrist was wrenched upward in a biting grip, jarring his shoulder, and turning him around. Luckily, it wasn’t the arm with the needle in it. Any confidence was leached out of him, and suddenly Klaus was horrified with himself, with his carelessness. 

“What the hell is wrong with you Klaus?” Ben snarled. “You think you’re better than me? Is that what it is? Think you don’t need me anymore, now you’ve got _Diego,_ and _Five,_ and your precious _Dave?”_

“No, no,” Klaus denied quickly, heart in his throat.

Ben grabbed his jaw, angling his face up, fingertips digging in painfully. “This is how you repay me?”

Klaus felt tears prick his eyes. He tried to find words, something to mitigate the situation, but his brain had gone blank white with panic, and he choked on his own silence.

“You think the others will stick around? Dave’s already gone, and let’s face it, he isn’t coming back.” Ben dropped his grip, stepping back, lip curled in disgust. “Honestly, I can’t blame him.”

“Don’t-” Klaus said shakily.

“Don’t what?”

_“Ben?”_

The pair froze.

Diego stood in the doorway, stock still, eyes wide and unblinking, staring straight at Ben. He held a basin of water in his hands, but they shook hard enough that some water sloshed out and splattered his shoes.

Ben gaped. “Diego,” he said.

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” Diego said, staggering further into the room.

“I’m here,” said Ben. Then, his form flickered, wavered. He looked down at his hands in artfully calculated shock. “I- I think I’m-” He fizzled out of corporeality. 

“W-What happened?” stammered Diego, still staring at the now empty space.

Smugly, Ben raised one challenging eyebrow. 

“I guess I must have, um-” Klaus scrambled to find an explanation. “My powers aren’t very- stable.”

“Christ, he was really here, though,” Diego said, sitting heavily at his side. “I heard voices, and I- were you guys shouting?” His expression darkened with worry.

Klaus dug his nails into his palms. “Just a- little argument. I guess we’re all kind of freaking out, after…” He let his eyes trail over Allison, who hadn’t moved an inch.

Diego set the basin down, reaching for the damp rag that was floating inside. “Right, of course.” He wrung it out, before grabbing one of his wrists - the one that Ben had just been squeezing. Klaus hid his wince, and hoped that it wouldn’t bruise up. He began to wipe the flaking blood off his hands.

Luther shuffled back into the room. “I just got a plain t-shirt,” he said quietly, taking Allison’s hand back into his own. “Do you think that’s okay?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Klaus said softly, exhausted.

Sitting at her side, Luther took Allison’s hand into his own again. 

Diego continued to clean his hands, water dripping back into the basin a violent pink. 

  


Mom came back with sweet tea for Klaus, to his surprise, telling him that he would need it after giving blood, and removed the needle from the crook of his elbow, deftly replacing it with a little plaster. Then she shooed everyone out.

“No, I’m staying,” Luther insisted stubbornly.

Then Grace gave him a meaningful look, and said, “I don’t think she would want to wake up covered in blood, do you?”

“Ah,” Luther said delicately. “I’ll just be outside.”

Klaus stood, wan and pale. 

“Come on,” Diego said, “Let’s get you some food. Doctor’s orders.”

He followed him down to the kitchen, allowing Diego to pull out some bread and begin assembling a sandwich - cheese and pickle, which is what he had always liked as a kid. Diego placed it haphazardly in front of him. 

“Thanks,” said Klaus, grateful, despite not feeling all that hungry. Seeing his sister almost die kind of ruined his appetite, he supposed. He nibbled on one corner, and took a swig of his tea. “What now?”

Diego heaved a sigh. “We still need to find Vanya.”

As if summoned, Five burst into existence. “There you are.”

Immediately, Diego said, “The bastard that nearly killed our sister's still out there, with Vanya. We need to find her.”

Five dismissed, “Vanya’s not important.”

“Hey, that's your sister. A little heartless even for you.”

“I'm not saying I don't care about her, but if the apocalypse happens today, then she dies along with the other seven billion of us,” Five explained. “Our first priority is Harold Jenkins.”

Nodding, all kinetic energy, Diego said, “I agree. Let's go.”

“Okay,” said Klaus, discarding the rest of his sandwich.

“You sure you’re good?” asked Diego, eyeing him skeptically.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Klaus asked cheerily.

  


They ended up going to Harold Jenkins house, hoping that he might have fled there after almost killing Allison, despite the fact it would have been a pretty stupid decision. If nothing else, it was a starting point. Maybe there would be a handy little note on the fridge, like, _Gone Fishing! Back tomorrow!_

The door was broken in, and glass crunched under their feet. Klaus tried not to think of it as a bad omen.

A man's body was on the floor.

It was impaled at least twenty times over, knives and scissors of various sizes, ringed by blood; the cause of death was pretty obvious. 

Klaus said, “It's not exactly what I was expecting.”

“The understatement of the year.”

“No sign of Vanya,” he noted worriedly.

“Let's get out of here,” Diego said, “And I can call this in to Patch.”

Five shook his head, edging closer to the body. “In a minute.”

Shifting impatiently, Diego said, “Come on, Five, what are you…”

“Ugh,” Klaus said, trying not to retch. Five had pulled out a prosthetic eye - _the_ prosthetic eye - and was shoving it into the body’s empty eye socket.

“Same eye color, same iris diameter. Guys, this is it. The eye I've been carrying around for decades, it- it's found its rightful home.” Five plucked the eye back out.

“Great, we got the right guy,” Klaus said. “Let’s go now, huh?” He really didn’t want to look at the dead body any longer - it was too reminiscent of his childhood.

“We still don’t know who did this, or what happened to Vanya,” Five mused. “But you’re right. Let’s get back to the academy. Maybe she’ll find us there.”

  


Back at the academy, they combed through the place, to no avail.

“She’s not here,” Five said flatly.

“So what now?”

Five scuffed the toe of his foot against the ground, expression pensive. “I… I don’t know,” he said pensively. 

Klaus bit his lip. He couldn’t see where to go from here. Harold Jenkins was dead, and as anticlimactic as it seemed, that meant the apocalypse was cancelled. Maybe it was time for Klaus to try again, to summon Dave. “I’m gonna- I’ll be in my room.” He fluttered his hand at his brothers - excluding Ben, who tailed him.

“Going to try summoning him again?” Ben asked, voice deceptively neutral.

Carefully, Klaus said, “Yeah. Is that… okay?”

Ben smiled. “Of course it is.”

He wasn’t sure why, but the response only made him more nervous. “Okay,” he said, fumbling to light the candle again. He tried to clear his mind, but it felt cluttered and unwilling to slow down. Klaus stared at the candle, willing something to happen. He held his dog tags in his hand, the shape and weight of them familiar, and tried to think of Dave, instead of his death.

He crawled outward.

Again, faster than last time, he found it: the wall.

He tentatively poked at it, felt it flex and strengthen under his fingers, like a muscle tensing. It felt… _wrong._ Alien.

Klaus walked its length, looking for- what? A doorway? An end? He wasn’t sure.

It began to tremble.

“What-”

No, it wasn’t the wall. It was _outside._ He blinked, and he was back in his childhood bedroom, and the walls were rumbling, ground unsteady beneath him. An earthquake? 

He stood, but the shaking was already dying down. “The hell was that?” he muttered, jogging down the stairs, hoping to find his siblings. 

Diego stood in the parlor, eyebrows drawn low. “What was that?”

“I was going to ask you,” Klaus said, panting slightly. 

Then, a sound, like screeching metal, and something else, deep and grinding.

“It’s coming from over here,” Ben said.

Klaus followed, down to an open doorway which was usually locked shut. He shared a brief, alarmed look with Diego, who seemed equally clueless, before going inside.

“Is that an… elevator?”

“What the hell,” Klaus said, bracing himself as he stepped inside. It was dark and small and cold, and the air was musty and damp in his nose. It made his heart stammer and race.

Diego pushed the button: _going down._

Klaus tried not to imagine what would happen if the elevator broke. 

At the bottom was a long, narrow corridor, concrete on all sides. It was the definition of claustrophobic. It seemed like it should exist in a horror movie, the path to some kind of torture chamber. Diego shouldered his way in front, taking lead, and Klaus was happy to let him. He was sort of waiting for a jump scare.

The corridor ended with a chamber.

Luther stood inside, looking small in contrast to the high, curving ceiling. Beyond him, a door with a narrow oval window, and his sister’s face, pink and distraught, hands pressed to the glass like she wanted to push through. Her mouth opened with silent words. _Vanya._

“What is this?” Diego asked, voice low and dangerous.

“I had to,” Luther said. “She’s dangerous; I had to protect everyone else from her.”

“Dangerous?” Klaus repeated, incredulous. “She-”

“She has powers,” Luther interrupted.

A beat. “You locked up our sister… because you think she has powers.”

“No, I know she does. Pogo told me. He's always known, and so did Dad,” Luther said. 

“Luther,” Klaus said, hushed. “Are you sure? I just… I don’t see how Vanya could be dangerous.”

“What more proof do you need?” Luther asked. “Dad was _scared_ of her. Don’t you get it? She was the one who hurt Allison!”

They fell silent. It wasn’t possible - was it? Vanya was... hurt. Angry, maybe, at being so excluded. But killing her own sister? No. “Look, why don’t we just open the door and _ask her,_ ” Klaus said, exasperated, heart twisting painfully at his sister’s tears.

Luther stepped in, smacking his hand away, and Klaus reflexively flinched, back thumping the metal wall. His brother looked regretful, for a fleeting second, but said, “I can’t let you do that.”

“No, Klaus is right,” Diego said, angling between them, eyes cagey, “We can’t leave her in there. She’s our _sister.”_

“She’s not going anywhere,” Luther said.

Klaus backed away, away from the door and Luther’s hulking figure. Luther was talking still, about their dad, and all the poisonous shit he had thought about Vanya, but Klaus wasn’t listening. Instead, he was looking at Ben. “Open the door,” he mouthed pleadingly.

Ben looked at him for a long moment, and Klaus felt himself begin the sweat, the anticipation and fear making him twitch and tremble. “I think…” Ben took a breath. “I think Luther’s right.”

His stomach dropped. “What?” he said, forgetting to be subtle.

Unremorseful, Ben said, “Some people deserved to be locked up.”

“Wha- I don’t- We can’t leave her here,” Klaus sputtered, voice thin and reedy. “We can’t-”

A hand touched his elbow, and Klaus sucked in a breath. He had forgotten, for a moment, that there were other people in the room. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Luther asked him, sounding vaguely disturbed. 

“I- I-”

Footsteps behind him.

“Allison,” Luther said. “What are you doing down here? You should be in bed.”

Skin ashy, Allison began to drag a marker across paper, and Klaus realised, suddenly, the implications of having your throat slit. _LET HER GO_ , the notebook proclaimed in bold letters.

“You know I can’t do that,” Luther mumbled. “She hurt you.”

Her jaw clenched. _MY FAULT._

“I’m sorry, but she’s staying put.” Allison tried to shove past him, but he was as solid as a brick wall. “Just until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Klaus could hear her breath hitch, and she shoved at Luther, muscles taught with rage and hurt.

“Come on,” Klaus said suddenly. “Come on, Allison, you need- you need to be resting.”

Allison shot him a betrayed look. Klaus added, “I know. I know, but he’s not going to change his mind, and we can’t stop him.”

She faltered. Nodded.

“Come on,” Diego said, putting a supportive arm around her. She blinked in blatant surprise, but allowed herself to be pulled away. Klaus tried not to look at the sister he was leaving behind.

He had never been so glad to be above ground.

Splitting from the pair with a, “Get some rest, Allison,” Klaus headed back to his bedroom, Ben dogging his footsteps.

His heart was beating hard, but not the usual nervous thrum. He felt strangely present, blood hot in his veins, making him want to- to-

Klaus was _angry._

He slammed his bedroom door shut, and spun to face Ben.

“What was that?” he exploded.

Ben stepped back, mouth agape. Then, visibly rallying himself, he deflected, “What do you mean?”

“You left our sister in a _cage,”_ said Klaus.

“You heard Luther, she’s dangerous-”

“That’s bullshit!” Klaus snapped.

The room went quiet. “What did you just say to me?” Ben asked coldly.

All of a sudden, Klaus realised the risk he was taking, the reality of the situation seeping in. He vacillated, “I don’t mean- I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying-”

Any further reconciliation was brought to a sudden end when a resounding _bang_ shook the house.

Vanya’s cell was open.


	10. Holding Hands While The Walls Come Tumbling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter! thank you to everyone who commented along the way, and i hope you enjoy!

“Yo, what the hell is going on?” Diego shouted over the sound of shattering glass and crumbling brick.

Klaus gasped, “Are those explosions coming f-”

“Vanya!” Luther yelled, skidding up the corridor, past them towards Allison’s room. “We need to get to safety outside the academy. And don’t forget Mom!”

Diego grabbed his by the shoulder, shoving him along, and Klaus tried not to trip over his own feet. The whole house was going to come down. He couldn’t quite believe it. _Vanya._ The girl who cried when her brothers stepped on ants, the girl who never spoke loudly but played the violin beautifully, the girl who had written that awful book. All of it, all that she was, she wasn’t _this._ Destruction and fury. Ruin and pain. The end of the world.

They arrived at the portrait corner, lungs burning, panting. “Where is she?” Diego asked desperately.

“Mom!” Klaus screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the shrieking and groaning of the house, distant explosions like an M26. 

They started to run again, directionless, hoping that they might find her, but time was ticking down, down-

Something hit him from behind, punching the breath from his lungs. He dropped, hands covering his head, because his helmet was gone, his helmet was-

No, no, stop.

The academy was coming down. He was with Diego. Diego was- 

He peeked up. Diego was lying prone by his side, face lax. “Diego,” Klaus said, shaking his shoulder. “Diego!” A loud, crunching sound from above, like the ceiling was crumpling in on itself. His eyes searched out Ben, who was watching with a complicated expression. “Ben, help me,” Klaus begged.

For a terrifying second, Klaus thought Ben might just smile sardonically, turn away, leave them here to die, but then hands were pulling Diego along, and Klaus shuffled to keep up, trying to find his feet despite the way the world swam and wobbled. 

“Come on,” Ben commanded, pulling Diego upright and tugging his arm over his shoulder.

Klaus hurried to take his other side. Diego grunted, head rolling, eyes fluttering. “Wha-”

“We still need to find Mom!” Klaus said.

“Screw that! This whole place is coming down, let’s _go,”_ said Ben, dragging them forward, and Klaus let him. 

“Ben?” Diego said, starting to sound more coherent, beginning to get his feet under himself. 

“Yes, it’s me, now move,” Ben told him as more plaster showered down on them.

They skidded to a stop outside, looking up at the towering side of the academy. Up, near the top, a window shone brightly, outlining Mom.

“Go!” screamed Klaus, gesturing widely. “Mom, go! Run!”

“Mom!” Diego said, starting back towards the house, eyes wide with horror.

Ben grabbed him by the sleeve. “It’s too late! Diego, stop-”

“But it’s _Mom,”_ cried Diego.

The plaster dust in the air was making it hard to breathe, to see, stinging their eyes and coating their tongues. The noise was escalating, a deafening roar. The building was coming down in earnest now. Klaus could only hope that the rest of them had gotten out. He dragged Diego back, out of the danger zone, as their childhood home imploded under the night sky.

Klaus hadn’t seen such pure demolition since the war.

Diego writhed and twisted, as if hoping to run in, despite it being too late, a suicide mission. “Mom,” he whispered achingly. Klaus felt like he was going to be sick.

The air began to settle. The noise was dying, but still loud as the wreck shifted and settled, fires devouring what was left of it. 

He released Diego, curling his hands through his dirty hair, pulling at it until he could remember the year.

He could see Luther and Allison now, pale and shocked, picking their way towards them. They made it out. Did anyone else? Was Five home? Is Vanya still buried?

Diego bent down and began scrambling at the debris, shifting brick and plaster. "Mom!" He called out. “Mom! Klaus, come here, help me search.”

"Diego," Klaus said damply, pulling him back. "Diego, stop, she's gone-"

“What- stop! What are you doing?” Diego bellowed.

Klaus held tight. “She’s gone,” he repeated, shaking his head, trying not to think about _bumblebee,_ and _I’m proud of you_.

Diego stabbed a finger against his chest. “What do you wanna do? You wa- wa- wanna walk away from this?”

“No,” Klaus denied softly.

“What about Pogo?” he continued.

Then, Luther called across, “He didn’t make it.”

The breath was punched from his lungs, and Klaus reached out to touch Diego’s shoulder, more to steady himself than his brother.

“What?” uttered Diego.

Luther sighed, trudging over, Allison trailing behind him. “Vanya killed him.”

“What? Vanya wouldn’t-”

“I saw him. Just before we got out,” Luther said flatly.

“Mom… Now Pogo.” Diego drifted downward, sitting on a chunk of rubble, head hanging low in defeat.

  


They regrouped at the bowling alley.

The place was tackier than he remembered, all sticky carpets and strange smelling shoes. His sibling’s faces looked strange under the cheap lights, heavy with grief and fear and a pooling sense of hopelessness. 

Luther was talking - something about being ready to do whatever it took - but Klaus tried not to listen, because if he did, he might have to punch Luther, and he didn’t think it would go well. Instead, he leafed through the newspaper, the repetitive motion of flicking the page almost soothing, a leisurely facade.

“Look, whatever we decide, we need to find Vanya. She could be anywhere-”

“Or here,” Klaus said, flipping the paper over. “Look at this.”

Diego said, “That's right. Her concert is tonight.”

Then, startling Klaus, a voice interjected, “I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you're not gonna bowl, you gotta leave.” A young woman in an unfortunate polo gave them a thin lipped smile.

“On it,” Klaus said, heaving himself upright to throw a ball. It skidded into the gutter, and the overhead made a booing sound.

“We're the only ones capable of stopping this,” Luther said grimmly. “We have a responsibility… to dad, but also, to each other. Right?”

Klaus wavered. “I- I think I might be able to help,” he said.

“Help how?” Luther asked him, perplexed.

He fixed his gaze onto Ben and said, “My powers, they- I can manifest ghosts. I can manifest Ben,” Klaus confessed, heart thumping wildly, crashing against his ribs.

“Jesus,” Luther muttered.

“No, it’s true,” said Diego, folding his arms. “I’ve seen it.”

“Really?” Luther said skeptically.

“Really,” Klaus confirmed.

Five shifted forward on his seat, eyes alight with anticipation. “Show us.”

Turning to Ben with a wary smile, Klaus rubbed his palms together, attempting to locate the small, burning flame inside of himself, and stretching it out into the space between them.

Ben lounged back in his seat, tilting his head slightly.

The flame extinguished.

“I’m not a party trick,” he said spitefully.

“Klaus?” Five said expectantly.

He cleared his throat, swallowing the hot, stinging frustration that threatened to close up his airways. “I- I can’t do it right now.”

Luther groaned. “Okay, let’s move on.”

“I can do it, though! Just- not now,” Klaus insisted meekly.

“Sure,” Luther said. “But if it’s not- well, let’s not rely on it.”

Klaus sank into his seat.

“Excuse me?” a shrill voice asked, as a woman leaned down to talk to them, red hair like blood under the harsh lights. “Excuse me, it's my son Kenny's birthday today, and uh... wouldn't your son be happier playing with kids his own age? Assuming it's okay with your two dads.”

Five opened his mouth.

“Thanks!” blurted Klaus. “But, uh, we’re brothers, actually, and the kid isn’t a fan.”

The woman blinked. “Of bowling?”

Klaus smiled sweetly. “Of people.”

Faltering, the woman said, “Okay. Um. Let’s go, Kenny.”

Diego watched them go. “ If I was going to date a man,” he mused, “you'd be the last man I would date.”

“Well yeah, I would hope so. No offense, you’re very handsome, but the whole brother thing is a turn off,” Klaus blabbered distractedly, watching as Five inspected the ball return, extracting a metal tube that didn’t look like it belonged. Then, without further comment, blue light flashed, and he was gone.

“Where did Five go?” Luther asked, whirling around from where he had been in discussion with Allison.

“He left,” Klaus supplied helpfully.

“Oh, for the love of... Where'd he go?”

Diego said, “Didn’t tell us.”

Luther grumbled, “Well, we're not waiting around for him. The concert starts in 30 minutes.”

They needed a plan - preferably, one a bit more detailed than, “We go to the Icarus Theatre,” which was about as much as a plan as they had. The problem was, they didn’t really have enough information. They didn’t know the specifics of Vanya’s powers, or her intentions, or even how she was going to trigger the apocalypse. They didn’t even know where Five was.

And then the bullets started flying.

Klaus clutched his ears, trying to tell himself that the hum of helicopter wings was in his head, trying to stay present. He didn’t have a weapon, and without a gun he was dead meat. That’s what they said in Vietnam: _your weapon is your life._

Someone suggested they should run for the pit at the bottom of the lanes, and Klaus was about to point out the _utter idiocy_ of it, but then Ben said, “Go! I’ll cover you!”

With trepidation, Klaus nodded in his direction, and then shouted, “Now!”

As they sprinted down the lanes, he could, over the sound of gunfire and pounding of their feet, here screams, and the rhythm of the shots wavered as they changed direction.

They skidded down into the pit.

“Everyone good?” Diego asked, already moving towards the exit.

Everyone sounded off, and Luther said, “We got lucky.”

Klaus didn’t bother to correct him.

  


The theatre loomed out of the dark, music bleeding out like a battle cry. The five of them marched in, a united front, just as they had as children. Allison insisted on going in alone, and Luther agreed, letting her walk in - she was the bait. Then, just like they were thirteen again, Luther designated, "Klaus, you're lookout."

"What? No way," Klaus disagreed. "I can help!"

"And if you can't? It's a risk I can't take."

Klaus grit out, "I'm not asking you to. It's my choice, and I've decided, I'm coming in."

Luther weighed that up for a moment. "Fine. Go join Allison; Diego and I will come in from the sides."

Nodding, Klaus pushed the doors open into the theatre, jogging to catch up with Allison, who had stopped in the aisle. Vanya was watching them. She was pale and alien looking, but she smiled at them. Klaus wondered if it wasn’t too late.

Then his brother’s barrelled on stage.

Standing, Vanya swept her bow in a violent arc, and Diego and Luther were thrown back through the air.

Screams rippled through the crowd, the smartly dressed audience, trampling towards the exit.

Another wave of her bow and the orchestra sat back down, playing along like puppets.

Klaus grabbed hold of Allison to stop them being swept away, drowned in the sea of people stampeding past. As the theatre emptied, the siblings reconvened in the front row, ducked behind the seats like it would save them from Vanya. “Are you guys okay?” Klaus asked, having to shout over the swell of music.

“Yeah,” Luther said, squeezed tightly into the space.

Allison whacked Klaus’ shoulder - the only sibling she could reach - and gave them a questioning, accusing look.

“Look, I almost lost you once, all right? I wasn't about to lose you again,” Luther defended.

Diego grunted, “Well, so much for the element of surprise. What else you got?”

And then, because things weren’t bad enough, bullets impacted the seats over their heads, just as Ben yelled, “Get down!” and the orchestra screamed and ran.

Klaus ducked low, heart thumping. His hands itched for his gun; he felt naked without it, like a sitting duck. The others were trying to come up with a plan, but he could barely hear them over the gunfire and his own head, replaying memories that he would rather forget. Napalm stung his nose.

A familiar flash of blue: Five appeared in the aisle.

Klaus leapt across and pushed him down, covering his body with his own.

“Get off me!” Five said, indignant, and Klaus wiggled to crouch by his side. Five glanced around at the situation, expression grave. “This is not good.”

“You know these guys?” Diego yelled across.

“Yeah, I do.”

“And?”

Five pressed his lips together. “We’re screwed.”

Klaus twisted around to look at Ben, eyes wide and hopeful. “Now?”

Ben looked at him, expression serious. “Now.”

His hands began to glow blue, burning with cold, energy running through Klaus like a livewire as he tapped into his power. He took a slow breath, funnelling it into his brother, who stood, outlined in bold cyan, eyes scared, maybe, but determined as he tugged his shirt up.

The Eldritch sprung forth.

Ben screamed at it - whether it still hurt, or if it was more at the horror of what he was seeing, Klaus wasn’t sure. The tentacles reached across the theatre, plucking the shooters up into the air and tearing them apart. The sound of it all was deafening; the creature’s shrieks; the crunch and squelch of bodies breaking; and above it all, Vanya’s violin, singing out.

He could see, through the glow, his siblings stand up, looking at them with shocked faces, mouths open.

The last of the bodies hit the floor, and the gunfire fell quiet. Without it, the music was louder than ever, a siren call.

Klaus released his hold.

Ben didn’t.

“It’s- It’s done, Ben,” he gasped out. “You can stop now.”

Ben turned to him with a sad smile. “No it’s not.”

“What?” Klaus asked, following him into the aisle and clinging to the back of the nearest chair. He had fueled Ben for longer before, but never the Eldritch too, and it had taken a lot out of him.

“One more,” Ben said, taking a step towards the stage.

Diego inched closer, ashy, eyes wide. “W-What do you mean?”

“Whatever it takes,” Ben said simply. “I know you guys won’t do it, but I will.”

Klaus shook his head. “You don’t mean- Ben, you can’t! She’s our sister!”

The Eldritch curled in the air, like they were searching for blood, waiting for their next kill. 

“It’s for the greater good,” Ben reasoned as he continued towards the stage. “And besides: you can’t stop me.”

On the stage, Vanya was growing brighter, the air warping around her as she played on, oblivious.

“Ben,” Klaus said brokenly. “Please.”

A tentacles shot out and curled around Vanya, holding her up in the air, and she panicked, struggling against it. Her violin dropped and splintered.

Ben looked up at his sister. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

Klaus said, “Me too.”

He pooled all the fear, and hope, and love, and with it he went inside of himself, like he had when he searched for Dave, finding the well of power inside of himself, bleeding out of him, spindles stretching out to the dead. He felt his eyes roll back. In that place, he found it, the chain connecting him to Ben, connecting him to that wall inside of himself.

He reached out a hand, and yanked.

A yelp.

Blinking awake, Klaus found Ben looking at him, stunned, the Eldritch retreating into his chest and dropping Vanya to the ground where she sat heavily, eyes returned to their normal brown, tearing up. Between them, Klaus’ powers stretched out in a flood of blue, from his hand to Ben. He raised his arm, and Ben floated up inches above the ground, feet dangling uselessly.

“What are you doing?” cried Ben.

Klaus replied, “What I have to.”

“You can’t-” Ben blustered, fear making his voice high. “Stop! Klaus, stop this, right now.”

“I can’t let you hurt her,” Klaus said desperately.

“Let me? _Let me?”_ Ben parroted, laughing shrilly. “I _own you._ Now put me the fuck down, or I swear-”

“Or what? What? You’ll hurt me?” Klaus asked. He was shaking all over. He felt like he was dreaming, like he might wake up any second. “No, Ben. Not anymore.”

“Klaus, stop! I’m your brother!”

Klaus had never felt so sure of his own power. He had wrestled it back from Ben, and now it was his again, and he felt whole for it. He hadn’t realised how much of himself he had let Ben control. Even his own powers had been handed over. For once, he could feel them fully, clearly, understand them in a way he never had.

And the wall. _The fucking wall._

That wall inside of himself that he couldn’t push through, all those times he reached out for Dave. That wasn’t his wall.

“You stopped me, didn’t you? You stopped me from finding Dave,” Klaus realised, throat burning with unshed tears.

“I had to!” Ben said. 

“No,” Klaus said. “No, you took him from me!”

Ben snarled. “You think he wanted you? I was saving you from the inevitable heartbreak when he realised the kind of person you are!”

“What the hell is happening?” Luther yelled. He was up on the stage, between Ben and Allison, who had rushed over to Vanya and was holding her tightly. 

Diego reached out to touch his shoulder. “Is this- Is it really Ben?”

Klaus swallowed tightly. “Not really.”

“What?” Ben asked sharply. “What does that mean? It’s _me._ I’m your brother!”

He took a shuddering breath. “It is Ben, but- I didn’t realise. I didn’t know- Oh god, this is my fault.” His knees faltered, but Diego caught him, supporting him.

“I don’t understand,” Five admitted, face pale. “Klaus, what does that mean?”

“I never really- understood my powers, I couldn’t see it before, not really,” Klaus said, words fast and dizzying. He could see it now, though, the web that bled out from him like pesticide. For once, he could see it clearly: it was steeped in fear. He had been afraid of his powers for so long, since before the mausoleum, and that terror had slipped out into his powers and poisoned them. Turned them toxic. No wonder the ghosts were full of nothing but pain and horror; it was his own horror, bouncing back at him like mirrors facing each other, reflecting that fear into infinity. “It was me, all this time. It was me.”

“Klaus, you’re not making sense,” Five urged him.

“I can fix this,” Klaus croaked out. “I can fix this.”

“Klaus,” Ben said urgently, “what are you doing? What does that mean?”

He wiped his tears away roughly, sucking in a breath. “It was me. I’m sorry, Ben. I made you this way.”

Something was brewing in Ben’s gaze. He was _scared._ “Klaus, stop,” he said weakly.

Klaus closed his eyes, and reached out. He looked out at the poison leaching out from him, and gathered his strength, every inch of control, and told himself _no more._

Like alcohol, it was eager to burn.

Ben made a thin noise. “Klaus, what are you- just, fucking _stop,_ Klaus,” he said, voice tipping into panic as the connection between them burned like a wick, it’s rot being eaten up by the flames. Klaus looked at him, and saw how his brother was saturated with his own fear and anger, a pale shadow, sickly and dripping.

He held up a hand, and Ben rose higher, limbs splayed. The connection between them was burning bright, electrified, and Klaus felt himself singed by the raw power. He harnessed that energy, and with it, he focused in on the poison that drenched his brother, and he _burned it._

His brother lit up. Klaus couldn’t look at him, and neither could their siblings, shading their eyes from the supernova he had become. A pained, choked noise came from his throat. “Klaus,” he sobbed.

“Ben,” Klaus said, stepping closer, skin glowing blue with power.

Ben was burning out, the anaemic despair he was drenched in burning away. Beneath it, Klaus could see Ben’s spirit as it was, clean, midnight black - not deathly, but alive like the night sky, rich and sparkling. “Oh, god,” Ben said wetly. “Oh, god, Klaus.”

Klaus breathed, “Ben,” breath hitching, because for the first time since his death, he felt like he really was speaking to his brother.

“Klaus, I- I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I should have realised, I-” Klaus babbled, drained from using his powers, except- they were still going. “Ben?”

Ben made a noise of surprise. “I think you’re-”

“I don’t know how to stop it,” Klaus said, staring at his own hands in dawning horror. “Ben, I can’t stop it-”

“It’s okay,” Ben interrupted. “Klaus, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not-,” Klaus choked. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes you can,” Ben told him, strangely serene. “I think I have to… move on. I think it’s time.”

“But I just got you back,” said Klaus. 

“It’s going to be okay, Klaus,” Ben told him. “You have other people, now. Just…”

“Yeah?” asked Klaus.

“Remember me how I used to be, before,” Ben requested.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161747284@N06/49680006873/in/dateposted-public/)

Klaus nodded. The world was spinning, ears ringing, and he folded, Diego following him down, steadying him. “Yes. Yes, of course, Ben. I- I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ben said easily. 

And then, 

with that, 

he winked out of existence.

Without his power running through him, Klaus drooped, head rolling. He was beyond exhausted, with each breath a monumental task, and yet his body found the energy for more tears, welling up hotly and running down his cheeks. A sob burst out of him. It wracked his frame, shaking his shoulders, and Diego pulled him into him. Klaus turned and buried his face in his shoulder.

“Is he- gone?” Five asked quietly.

Around his tears, Klaus said, “He’s gone. He’s really gone. I can’t-” Any more words were drowned out as another wave of agony broke over him, and he wailed, loud and shameless. 

A small hand touched his arm. Vanya.

Klaus turned to his smallest sister, face puffy and pink. “Vanya?”

“I’m here,” she said solemnly. “I’m so sorry, Klaus.”

He swallowed thickly. “Are you okay?”

Vanya’s lip wobbled as she smiled. “I think I should be asking you that.”

Klaus tilted forward until she swept him into an embrace, her skinny arms wiry and strong around him. 

“He was really here,” Luther said faintly. “All this time?”

He nodded miserably against Vanya’s head, messing up her hair. “Yeah.”

“And he was- like that?” he hesitantly asked.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Klaus defended. “It was- I was-”

“I’m sorry,” Luther blurted. “I can’t even imagine. That was…”

Klaus was shocked into silence for a moment, forgetting to even cry. “I- yeah. Um. Thanks.”

“Why didn't you tell us?” Diego questioned. Allison reached over and smacked him over the head. “ _Ow!”_

“Would you have believed me? That Ben was- was-” Klaus couldn’t say it, couldn’t put that word on it. Not yet.

“Probably not. Sorry,” Diego said frankly.

“Yeah,” said Klaus, wiping his tears away with the back of his wrist. His make up was probably all over his face, but he didn’t have the energy to care. 

“What now?” Five asked.

Silence. Then, Klaus said, “I just want to sleep in my bed.” He looked up at his siblings, the only family he had left. “Wanna come back to mine? It’s pretty small, but I have coffee.”

Five shrugged. “I’m in.”

The siblings stood, Diego taking care to make sure that Klaus didn’t fall back down. Klaus wavered in place, but he knew his siblings were there to catch him. 

Luther said, “Lead the way.”

And then, another voice, achingly familiar. “Klaus?”

Klaus froze. His heart stuttered against his ribs, and he wavered, Diego gripping him tighter. He was afraid to turn around and find nothing there, just a figment of his imagination, but he held his breath, and turned around. 

_“Dave.”_


End file.
